v kX*  !  ■  * 

■v  :  c.r#/  V.V-  .  -  ■  ■  .  ■• 

■  A.-  ..'-,  '  -7  ,*>«.<;  cvV.  J.  a  v«;  •  ,v  •  •  •  -  -'• 

'’"•  >  >:  .  ,  V  .  t;  A'  .  ***  \  •^Vy’V-  x?  Jr*/*  * 


JSFTl  4  4  -f».  'Tjrt.  f.  Jfkf  J/  /UV  A '  JJi  1 

>:  »  >»XV  "if  •  'tL'ra  A,  •  i  *£  ,  w  V’f'**,  V  SR*'’  '3rf’  tlfO''’  jl  ■  .  v,  *>  j 

p-v-fw :jr  J*«H  st  n<  3fiw4i /PWW'  t*Y»  ■ 

T  ■■'*•?•  *<*..  j  'f  >4\  :Mk,V‘  . .  ^esJhrW^AdtS,  JJf  W 


j%i^F 


•-  fli  «- 
f'Mwv  /»■ 


'■  "’’V'AV  ■  ^V-vfi&A?'  *r‘rr'JLf/A  JW  ,  «•  V*  *  S-'^AA  fjr/  y  #■ 

5?,V  ' .  &*-•  '••  ,V  V*  1  a*,,wL,  .  K  i 

C  H  Jw*  hbB  Jae^  1 


yf  mix 


■ '  *  f  ; 

•  ^  J*V  >*!  • 

1;  4- 

i,-V.'\« 

v 

!- v 

*  if  -  - 

..  w  ■>.  *•  .  ■ 

ifSa  *• 

#"'  V  v 
%«/  < 
.  y  .,  .  • 

k  %/ 

■Vr'--- 

V£;,>- 

ij 

VUM  j 

,,  i 

Pjr*> 

yM 
•'  >•/  • 

If  ^ 

•:A  S  • 

.  k"?  '  *Jif 

..4. 

y  1/  < 


THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  ILLINOIS 


•  v  :•'•  SsK  SVTV- 
.  -  ,*  .-•'•■?:•’•  .  y  ,<z 

■  \&>  ', .  Y  *  ...  .\$ 

\;i;4f' '"%>iriY  1 

1 c'  Sf.5f  -pk  :■>  >•...! 


'  "  ^  jWt*.  *  ;■:  '• 


.'  r'  -  Xv  ‘  .  I 

SWf<:  .  >'"  - 

."v\V„  ,V'  .  v»Cl  ^  . 

K‘  '  v  4  i 

4 


LIBRARY 


.WWI 

Ml  ^r 

-'^4 

■Kff* 


I,'.' 


f  ^ 


%yf> 


ffc-TWlr 

fmC^ 

H 


„„  ...,_■  3^1 

vJr 


' 

■  ••  A  .  :  .  •  v  .  /■  h  — 

;v  -v‘  .  '  ‘vv  *  x  '  :  J.  - •  ,4  L  -  '""  .; 

. 

■ 


■  ^>W 


y>;* 


■:  I'  V  .i. 


i  M  " 


AAl? , 


Vtr 


3b  J 

- 


Return  this  book  on  or  before  the 
Latest  Date  stamped  below.  A 
charge  is  made  on  all  overdue 
books. 

University  of  Illinois  Library 


<  AS  i 

AT 


£ 


_  >  V  .J.  1  -  A 


Qnr 


0/ 


^  vV 


■L 

#V 


mm 

-■  a.;-- 


8  /Si?  (  0/  22 

^  1  9 1984 


i  !°n 


%  »  Xi 


fiOU 


2  i  mi 


ft  .  •••  •:  v 

r>-  f:. 


DEC  -4  1953 


u  '  f  f*  ^ 

pfc-yij  .  f.  » 

■€-•  4 

•:;4  \  vjlf  „>A 


1 1 

W  > 


I  rr  v? 


i  f 


(n 


,A  ' 


"  A.  . 

IA’ 

■ 

-•  "  ?,  •>, 

7.1 

V*  '  i>:M 


9 

i 


IQ 

i  w 


•  /e* 


?n 
•  u 


?S 


v  A 


/•».•  y>* 

.•  .v; 


' 


‘■tyf 

••  *•  a  * 


SH 


'f^b, ,, 


%  5BS  a 

JLT > 


SJt;  'A  ,  A 


5 

PCS 


y.  -4/- 


•'  s  .  •■  ‘ 


»,,V; 


y 


s*-  4  >.3--v 

y/'-J  :>'■ 

fr  5^ 
f:  A,-  f/re.H 


...t-r ' ?\  j 


V'iJ 


Jk?%  hv^NA. 


?  .-,  ;  •;>  .••  ■- .  • 


►  ‘  b  ‘J 

piwti 

1  *VV  )&*?* 


A>e*  ,  ’  -^*W 


¥ 


jL. 

•  -w'  ;.  »t  -  .f*. 


Ay  ,  K 

VC 

y.  i  ; 

•••V  5  .  ■ 

■  Y  -y?.,  •  ■  1. 

rw  A 

irz 


'  -4f  ;  1 


K.- 


\ 


V 


•  ■ ;  •  - 


WORKS  BY  OCTAVIUS  BROOKS  FROTHINGHAM. 


The  Religion  of  Humanity.  4th  edition,  i2mo,  pp.  338  .  $1  50 

“  A  profoundly  sincere  book,  the  work  of  one  who  has  read  largely,  studied 
thoroughly,  reflected  patiently.” — Boston  Globe. 

Stories  from  the  Lips  of  the  Teacher.  Retold  by  a  Disciple. 
Sixth  edition,  i6mo,  pp.  193  .  .  .  .  .  .  $1  00 

“  It  is  in  style  and  thought  a  superior  book,  that  will  interest  young  and  old.” — 
Zion  Herald  (Methodist). 

Stories  of  the  Patriarchs.  Third  edition.  i6mo,  pp.  232. 

$1  00 

“  The  sublimest  lessons  of  manhood  in  the  simple  language  of  a  child.” — 
Springfield  Republican. 

The  Child’s  Book  of  Religion.  For  Sunday-Schools  and  Homes. 
New  edition,  revised.  i6mo,  pp.  xii.  +  273  .  .  .  $1  00 

Transcendentalism  in  New  England.  A  History.  Second 

edition.  8vo,  pp.  iv.  +  394 . $1  75 

“  The  book  is  masterly  and  satisfying.” — Appleton's  Journal. 

The  Cradle  of  the  Christ.  A  Study  in  Primitive  Christianity. 

8vo,  pp.  x.  +  234 . $1  50 

“  Scholarly,  acute,  and  vigorous.” — N.  Y.  Tribune. 

Theodore  Parker.  A  Biography.  8vo,  pp.  viii.  +  588  .  2  00 

Gerrit  Smith.  A  Biography.  8vo,  pp.  371  .  .  2  00 

“  A  good  biography,  it  is  faithful,  sufficiently  full,  written  with  vigor,  grace, 
and  good  taste.’  — N.  Y.  Evening  Post. 

Belief  of  the  Unbelievers.  i2mo,  sewed  ...  25 

Speaking  of  Mr.  Frothingham’s  Sermons,  the  Springfield  Republican  says  : 
“  No  one  of  serious  intellectual  character  can  fail  to  be  interested  and  taught  by 
these  most  thoughtful  discourses.” 

Boston  Unitarianism.  1820-1840.  A  Study  of  the  Life  and 
Work  of  Nathaniel  Langdon  Frothingham.  (Ready,  1890.) 


G.  P.  PUTNAM’S  SONS,  New  York  and  London. 


BOSTON  UNITARIANISM 


1820-18^0 


A  STUDY  OF  THE  LIFE  AND  WORK 


NATHANIEL  LANGDON  FROTHINGHAM 


BY 

OCTAVIUS  BROOKS  FROTHINGHAM 


B  Sfoetcb 


NEW  YORK  &  LONDON 

G.  P.  PUTNAM’S  SONS 
litutktrboclur  |)r£ss 
1890 


COPYRIGHT  BY 

OCTAVIUS  BROOKS  FROTHINGHAM 
1890 


Ube  Iknlcfcerbocfcer  lPrcss,  Hew  Igocft 

Electrotyped,  Printed,  and  Bound  by 
G.  P.  Putnam’s  Sons 


%  % 

V^-ih 


ctz 


tf:  i*.  C  '/•!/  ,. 


PREFATORY  NOTE. 


A  word  of  explanation  seems  to  be  necessary. 
Many  years  ago  I  proposed  writing  something  in 
memory  of  Dr.  Frothingham,  bnt  abandoned  the 
project  on  account  of  the  meagreness  of  the  bio¬ 
graphical  material.  Within  the  twelvemonth,  a 
warm  friend  and  admirer  of  his  asked  me  to  pre¬ 
pare  a  memoir.  Then  the  matter  was  reviewed  once 
more,  and  it  occurred  to  me  that  some  reminiscences 
of  my  father  might  be  woven  into  a  sketch  of  his 
time.  This  has  been  attempted,  with  what  success 
others  must  judge.  So  much  is  certain,  that  if  I 
did  not  undertake  the  task  nobody  else  would.  This 
will  account  for  the  mixture  of  denominational  con¬ 
cerns  with  personal  details.  It  is  needless  to  say  that 
the  author  writes  as  an  historian,  not  as  an  advocate. 

O.  B.  F. 


* 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 


Prefatory  Note  . 

I. — Three  Types  of  Unitarianism 
II. — An  Example  ....... 

III.  — The  First  Church . 

IV.  — The  Dogmatical  Position  . 

V. — Literature  and  Religion  . 

VI. — The  Unitarian  Layman  . 

VII. — The  Old  World . 

VIII. — The  Freedom  of  Friendship  . 

IX. — The  Boston  Association  of  Congregational 
Ministers  ....... 


v 

i 

i5 

26 

37 

70 

93 

129 

i59 

213 

228 


X. — The  End 


BOSTON  UNITARIAN  ISM. 


I. 

THREE  TYPES  OF  UNITARIANISM. 

It  lias  long  seemed  to  me  that  justice  was  not 
done  to  the  Unitarianism  which  lay  between  Wil¬ 
liam  Ellery  Channing  on  one  side,  and  Theodore 
Parker  on  the  other ;  the  simple  rationalism  as  dis¬ 
tinguished  from  the  spiritualism  of  the  former,  and 
the  naturalism  of  the  latter ;  literary  Unitarianism  it 
might  be  called ;  the  religion  of  sentiment,  feeling, 
emotion  ;  the  religion  of  unadorned  good-sense.  The 
fame  of  these  two  men  so  far  eclipsed  the  others, 
that  they  sank  into  general  obscurity,  and  were 
almost  unknown  outside  of  a  small  circle  of  admir¬ 
ers,  while  their  influence,  if  acknowledged  at  all,  was 
considered  insignificant.  By  many  they  were  re¬ 
garded  as  drones,  respectable  good-for-nothings.  Yet, 
it  is  my  belief,  the  freedom  and  ease  of  movement  in 
the  mind  of  this  generation,  its  elasticity,  its  grace¬ 
fulness,  its  love  of  musical  expression,  its  demand 


2 


BOSTON  UNI TA RIA N ISM. 


for  finish  in  thought  and  phrase,  its  modest  demeanor 
in  presence  of  deep  problems,  must  be  in  great  meas¬ 
ure  due  to  them.  Of  course,  some  were  more  distin¬ 
guished  than  others,  but  chiefly  in  distinct  fields — 
as  James  Walker  in  philosophy,  John  G.  Palfrey  in 
history,  Alexander  Young  in  biography, — but  as  a 
class  of  thinkers  they  held  no  eminent  place.  It  is 
the  fashion  to  depreciate  them,  to  deny  them  power, 
to  esteem  them  of  small  account.  That  they  were 
destitute  of  positive,  new,  creative  force,  is  freely  ad¬ 
mitted  ;  but  that  they  were  without  formative  genius 
or  power,  is  not  so  easily  granted.  It  was  their  office 
to  create  an  atmosphere  rather  than  to  advance  a 
cause,  to  diffuse  a  spirit  of  liberality  rather  than  to 
promote  the  interests  of  a  system  of  thought,  whether 
doctrinal  or  philosophical.  They  were  not  organ¬ 
izers  ;  they  were  not  sectaries ;  they  were  not  cham¬ 
pions  of  any  school ;  they  were  not  possessed  by  any 
dominant  idea ;  they  had  no  passion  for  social  reform. 
They  were  simply  scholars  and  gentlemen  ;  dignified, 
gracious,  genuine,  sweet ;  fond  of  elegant  studies,  of 
good  English,  of  courteous  ways,  of  poetic  expres¬ 
sion,  of  the  amenities  of  life.  They  were  conservative 
of  existing  institutions  in  so  far  as  they  allowed  the 
free  movement  of  cultivated  mind,  and  desired  no 
change  except  in  the  direction  of  mental  emancipa¬ 
tion.  They  pushed  against  no  barriers  that  did  not 
limit  the  right  to  walk  over  all  the  fields  of  literature, 
unimpeded  and  unchallenged.  For  the  rest,  they 
were  contented  with  things  as  they  were  and  disliked 


THREE  TYPES  OF  UNITARIAN  ISM.  3 

innovation,  dreading  the  intrusion  of  untried  ideas ; 
agitation,  violence,  vehemence,  even  in  the  advocacy 
of  just  principles,  they  deplored.  They  believed  in 
the  prevalence  of  sweetness  and  light.  Such  men 
are  never  creators  or  leaders. 

That  William  E.  Channing  was  the  father  of 
spiritual  Christianity  admits  of  no  question.  The 
fact  is  undisputed.  His  immense  and  growing  fame, 
the  dedication  of  churches  in  his  honor,  the  associa¬ 
tion  of  his  name  with  the  sect,  the  acclaim  of  its 
most  eminent  men,  preachers,  critics,  thinkers,  the 
steady  increase  of  his  noblest  teachings,  while  his 
limitations  have  been  gradually  falling  away,  the 
development  of  his  cardinal  thoughts — upward,  in¬ 
ward,  outward — all  attest  this.  Admitting  the  sub¬ 
stantial  justice  of  M.  Renan’s  criticism ;  granting 
that  Channing  did  not  think  himself  clear  on  several 
doctrinal  matters;  conceding  that  he  was  but  half 
developed  as  a  philosopher ;  it  is  nevertheless  true 
that  he  was  the  inspirer  of  the  most  exalted  souls  in 
the  denomination.  And  this  may  be  easily  explained. 
The  insignificance  of  his  physical  frame,  its  weakness 
and  infirmity,  made  him  seem  a  spirit,  the  more  so 
on  account  of  his  untiring  pursuit  of  knowledge  and 
his  habitual  absorption  in  high  themes,  which  he 
clung  to  and  persisted  in  long  after  strong  people 
would  have  abandoned  the  quest  in  sheer  fatigue. 
Dr.  Dewey,  in  a  discourse  delivered  after  Channing’s 
death,  said:  “  On  my  first  acquaintance  with  him,  it 
was  my  happiness  to  pass  a  number  of  weeks  under 


4 


BOSTON  UNIT  A  RIA  N/SM. 


his  own  roof.  His  health  was  then  delicate  ;  he  went 
abroad  but  little ;  his  mind  was  left  untouched  by 
the  frailty  of  his  body ;  and  I  found  it  constantly 
occupied  and  struggling  with  great  questions,  as  the 
highest  philosophy,  or  the  highest  religion,  or  the 
highest  freedom  of  life ;  all  the  day  long  he  pursued 
the  questions  which  those  themes  present,  without 
ever  slackening  or  ever  turning  aside  to  ordinary 
and  commonplace  talk.  The  range  of  his  subjects 
was  as  great  as  their  character :  from  the  most  recon¬ 
dite  point  in  philosophy — the  difference  between 
relative  and  absolute  truth — to  the  forms  of  philan¬ 
thropic  enterprise  and  political  thought  around  him. 
But  his  favorite  themes  were  Man  and  the  New 
Testament  ;  man,  his  condition,  and  the  philosophy 
of  his  condition ;  the  New  Testament,  Jesus  Christ, 
his  teaching,  and  the  sublimest  contemplation  of 
God.  Sometimes  his  mind  was  upon  the  same  theme, 
almost  without  interruption,  for  an  entire  week; 
yet  there  was  never  any  weariness  in  listening,  but 
the  weariness  of  exhaustion.”  He  had  his  limita-, 
tions,  but  his  incessant  endeavor  to  surmount  them 
reduced  them  to  a  negative,  subordinate,  ephemeral 
position,  like  the  clouds  that  obscure  the  rising 
sun  and  must  soon  be  burned  away,  however  solid 
they  look.  He  was  not  a  man  of  mere  opinions — 
notions  that  lay  on  the  surface  of  his  mind  and 
were  driven  about  by  the  varying  winds  of  doc¬ 
trine,  owing  their  temporary  place,  to  the  book  he 
last  read,  or  the  person  he  last  conversed  with,  but 


THREE  TYPES  OF  UNI  TA  RIA  N ISM. 


5 


he  was  a  man  of  deep  convictions,  which  were 
rooted  in  his  character,  had  an  organic  growth,  and 
threw  off  dogmas  as  the  chambered  nautilus  throws 
off  its  covering, 


“  Leaving  its  outgrown  shell  by  life’s  unresting  sea.” 

Such  a  man  is  of  slow  increase.  His  maturity  is 
in  the  future.  He  is  a  seed  rather  than  a  forest. 
Channing  said  well,  when,  in  answer  to  one  who 
asked  toward  the  end  of  his  life  what  he  considered 
to  be  the  happiest  period  of  his  existence,  he  replied 
with  a  smile,  u  About  the  age  of  sixty.”  His  true 
life  did  begin  after  his  death. 

At  the  bottom  of  his  heart  was  a  passion  for  pure 
religion,  undefiled  by  rite  or  doctrine.  It  was  the 
only  passion  he  had,  a  real  thirst  for  the  Living  God. 
The  paternal  nature  of  God  was  his  cardinal  belief, 
and  it  was  his  sole  endeavor  to  explain  this  and 
render  it  vital  in  all  its  implications.  This  principle 
furnished  a  basis  for  his  doctrine  of  an  inherent 
dignity  in  man ;  of  the  divine  Sonship  of  Jesus 
Christ,  and  his  mission  as  the  inspirer,  friend,  ex-- 
emplar  of  the  soul ;  of  the  Bible  as  conveying  the 
Father’s  benignant  will ;  of  the  immortal  destiny  as 
a  demand  of  the  spiritual  part  which  presupposed  a 
deathless  continuance ;  of  all  reasonable  attempts  to 
elevate  society.  This  alone  justified  the  hope  of 
temporal  and  eternal  good.  In  fact,  his  central  con¬ 
viction  was  the  love  of  God.  The  invincible  optimism 
it  aroused  never  left  him.  He  had  a  genuine  enthu- 


\ 


6 


BOSTON  UNIT  A  RIA  NISM. 


siasm  for  truth,  mental  freedom  and  moral  excel¬ 
lence.  He  was  “  always  young  for  liberty.”  Miss 
Peabody  reports  him  as  saying :  “  I  would  not  for 
the  world  interrupt  or  check  your  thought.  ...  I 
would  not  for  the  world  throw  a  damper  on  earnest¬ 
ness  of  inquiry ;  it  is  only  by  grappling  with  great 
questions  that  there  can  be  any  progress.”  His  inti¬ 
mate  friends  say  that  he  possessed  a  fine  imagination, 
that  he  had  a  nice  sense  of  color  and  lines.  But  this 
faculty  was  never  unfolded.  He  was  never  a  poet, 
except  as  every  idealist  must  be  one  at  heart.  The 
tendency  of  his  mind  was  toward  philosophical 
speculation,  and  the  bent  of  his  will  was  in  the 
direction  of  practical  evils  to  be  removed.  His 
songs  were  spiritual.  He  thought  more  of  the  good¬ 
ness  in  nature  than  of  its  beauty.  That  Washington 
Allston,  his  brother-in-law,  prized  his  opinion  of  pict¬ 
ures,  simply  proves  the  existence  of  artistic  sensibility 
in  the  constitution.  The  aim  was  spiritual,  all  the 
time,  and  attests  the  spirituality  of  Allston’ s  art, 
quite  as  much  as  Channing’s  taste  in  praising.  The 
man  cared  nothing  about  Unitarianism,  simply  be¬ 
cause  he  abhorred  division,  and  professed  it  merely 
on  account  of  its  unpopularity.  His  whole  concern 
was  with  religion,  not  even  with  Christianity  other¬ 
wise  than  as  it  was,  in  his  estimation,  the  highest 
form  of  religion,  the  most  potent  instrument  for 
cultivating  the  human  soul.  Of  intellectual  ac¬ 
complishments,  of  literary  finish,  of  philosophical 
talent,  of  learning,  of  scholarship,  of  criticism,  he 


THREE  TYPES  OF  UNITARIAN! SM. 


7 


had  no  opinion  whatever,  unless  as  aids  to  a  divine 
purpose. 

Technically,  Dr.  Channing  belonged  to  the  Scotch 
system  of  philosophy — that  of  common-sense — dry, 
prosaic,  unimaginative.  But,  really,  he  was  a  disci¬ 
ple  of  the  intuitive  school ;  nor  is  it  at  all  surprising 
that  the  transcendentalism  of  a  later  epoch  was  de¬ 
rived  from  that  adoring  soul ;  that  George  Ripley 
borrowed  an  impulse  from  him ;  that  Mr.  Emerson, 
even,  was  indebted  to  him  for  inspiration.  The 
intuitive  philosophy  would  appear  to  be  most  con¬ 
sistent  with  Channing’s  leading  ideas — with  his  in¬ 
terior  or  subjective  conception  of  God  as  a  Father, 
with  his  moral  view  of  Christ  as  the  perfect  man, 
with  his  doctrine  of  a  similarity  of  nature  between 
the  human  and  the  divine  spirit,  with  his  interpreta¬ 
tion  of  the  Bible  as  a  message  of  love  to  the  mind  of 
man — his  reading  of  the  heart’s  natural  compassion 
into  the  text  being  well  known.  It  was  his  main 
objection  to  the  doctrine  of  hell  that  it  outraged 
every  instinctive  feeling  of  justice  and  mercy.  On 
one  occasion,  when  an  objector  cited  the  “  woe  unto 
you  scribes  and  pharisees  ”  as  an  evidence  that  J esus 
was  not  always  animated  by  absolute  kindness,  he 
took  down  the  New  Testament  and,  rendering  the 
Greek  into  “  alas  for  you,”  gave  a  new  meaning  to 
the  passage.  Miss  Peabody  mentions  the  case  of  a 
young  man  who  flung  in  his  teeth  the  declaration, 
“Ye  are  of  your  father  the  devil.”  Dr.  Channing 
paraphrased  the  verse,  and  then  repeated  it  in  a  tone 


8 


BOSTON  UNI TA RIA N ISM. 


J 


that  conveyed  earnestness  alone,  without  a  trace  of 
anger.  “  Oh,”  said  the  young  man,  “  if  Jesus  spoke 
in  that  way  I  have  no  doubts.”  In  this  instance,  as 
in  a  great  many  others,  Dr.  Channing  assumed  the 
(superiority  of  the  affections.  Love  being  the  high¬ 
est  principle,  he  took  that  for  his  chief  authority 
against  historical  probability.) 

Channing,  therefore,  stood  at  one  extreme,  as  the 
illustration  of  spiritual  aspiration.  At  the  other 
extreme  stood  Theodore  Parker,  an  illustration  of 
the  power  of  practical  will.  With  every  disposition 
to  grant  Mr.  Parker’s  extraordinary  force  and  emi¬ 
nent  service ;  with  the  heartiest  admission  of  his 
claim  upon  admiration  and  love ;  with  grateful  ac¬ 
knowledgment  of  his  integrity,  singleness  of  mind, 
outspokenness,  courage,  unaffected  warm-heartedness, 
tenderness  of  feeling,  catholicity  of  sentiment — his 
talent  was  practical,  not  speculative.  He  was  an 
enormous  reader,  but  not  a  subtle  thinker.  He  had 
a  prodigious  memory,  but  not  a  penetrating  intellect 
or  soaring  imagination.  Though  he  honored  Dr. 
Channing,  listened  reverently  to  him,  spoke  beauti¬ 
fully  of  him  in  a  funeral  discourse,  he  probably 
never  caught  his  genius,  or  fully  comprehended  his 
mind.  Mr.  Parker  kept  a  record  of  every  thing,  had 
an  outside  acquaintance  with  all  systems,  could  put 
his  finger  on  every  significant  name  or  passage,  but 
his  ability  to  describe  opinions  was  out  of  proportion 
to  his  inward  appreciation  of  them.  He  was  not 
complex.  He  was  not  seraphic.  He  was  not  aerial 


9 


THREE  TYPES  OF  UN  I TA  RIA  N ISM. 

or  winged.  Terrestrial  he  essentially  was ;  not,  by 
any  means,  “  of  the  earth,  earthy,”  for  no  one  was 
ever  more  clean,  heroic,  devoted,  than  he ;  no  one 
was  more  consecrated  to  the  most  exalted  human 
aims.  But  he  must  have  human  aims.  He  was  prac¬ 
tical,  executive,  charged  with  stern  mental  force,  a 
Titan,  not  an  angel,  a  Briareus  with  a  hundred  hands . 
One  has  only  to  read  his  u  Discourse  on  Religion  ”  to 
see  how  muscular  his  persuasions  were.  In  the 
early  days  of  the  Transcendental  discussion,  it  was 
evident  that  this  “  Orson  of  parsons  ”  used  the  new 
philosophy  as  a  club  wherewith  to  belabor  his  oppo¬ 
nents.  To  a  friend  he  said,  as  Luther  said  to  Me- 
lancthon,  “  I  was  born  to  thunder  and  lighten,  and 
break  things  down  to  the  ground.”  He  was  an  agi¬ 
tator  by  temperament.  It  is  often  said,  that  the 
Unitarian  controversy  and  the  anti-slavery  movement 
diverted  him  from  his  ultimate  work.  That  they 
diverted  him  from  his  ulterior  design  is  quite  pos¬ 
sible;  but  that  they  injured  his  actual  achievement 
may  be  doubted.  He  misapprehended  his  own  office, 
which  was  to  destroy,  not  to  build  up.  In  reality 
these  convulsions  were  his  opportunity.  They  called 
forth  his  characteristic  qualities,  his  directness,  his 
frankness,  his  eloquence  of  speech,  his  wit,  his  sar¬ 
casm,  his  bluntness  of  sentiment,  his  invective,  his 
power  of  denunciation  and  contempt.  His  closet¬ 
writing  would  never  probably  have  been  of  great 
value,  nor  would  he  have  been  famous  as  a  scholar. 
He  thought  of  himself  as  a  reformer  of  faith,  a  sec- 


IO 


BOSTON  UN/TAR/A N ISM. 


ond  Luther.  William  E.  Charming  was  “cautious 
and  timid  both  in  thought  and  action/’  in  his  view. 
There  was  no  reform  in  which  he  did  not  take  a 
part,  and  the  air  was  thick  with  the  breath  of  change. 
Every  institution  rushed  to  judgment.  “In  the  his¬ 
tory  of  the  world,”  said  Emerson  then,  “  the  doctrine 
of  reform  had  never  such  hope  as  at  the  present 
hour.”  It  was  the  abstract  conscience  against  all 
conventionalities.  The  result  of  which  was  a  com¬ 
plete  overturning  of  all  social  arrangements ;  for 
these  were  placed  at  the  mercy  of  individual  caprice, 
the  gathered  usage  of  the  past  not  being  accepted 
as  authority.  It  should  be  added  that  Mr.  Parker 
was  not  always  on  the  destructive  side.  He  had 
conservative  leanings,  for  personal  feeling  is  apt  to 
be  conservative,  and  his  personal  feelings  were  very 
strong.  For  instance,  he  attended  the  anti-Sabbath 
convention,  and  made  a  speech  in  favor  of  the  Sun¬ 
day.  Still  he  took  part  in  it,  as  Dr.  Channing  did 
not,  though  the  latter  was  present  as  a  listener, 
and  in  so  doing  admitted  the  principle  that  the  pri¬ 
vate  soul  may  pronounce  on  institutions,  a  doctrine 
that  offended  the  more  deliberate  judgment  of  a 
large  number  of  his  contemporaries.  Parker  was  a 
headlong  man.  Fortunately  his  impulses  were  all 
noble,  and  his  tremendous  force  of  will  was  directed 
in  humane  paths,  and  was  made  a  power  of  justice. 
At  the  time,  however,  this  could  not  be  generally 
seen,  even  by  such  as  were  in  sympathy  with  the 
ultimate  aim,  as  Channing  certainly  was ;  while  the 


THREE  TYPES  OF  U N I T ARIA NISM. 


1 1 

more  timid  or  prudent,  or  thoughtful,  or  lukewarm, 
turned  away  in  disgust,  under  an  impression  that 
the  problems  were  too  delicate  for  any  summary 
treatment,  and  must  be  left  to  the  slow  working  of 
reason. 

To  this  last  class  belonged  the  Unitarians  I  would 
describe,  a  class  of  men  who  lay  between  Channing 
and  Parker,  lacking  the  fervent  spirituality  of  the 
one,  and  the  impassioned  earnestness  of  the  other; 
men  of  quiet  culture  and  scholarship,  of  elegant 
tastes,  rehned  manners,  and  dignified  conduct ;  social, 
affable,  amiable,  kind,  gentle,  but  not  in  the  smallest 
degree  volcanic,  or  sulphureous,  or  explosive  with 
wrath,  however  “holy.”  This  type  of  clergyman  is 
admirably  depicted  in  Ur.  Frothingham’s  tribute  to 
his  friend,  Dr.  Lunt,  prepared  for  the  Massachusetts 
Historical  Society.  He  used  these  words  :  “  In  the- 
ology,  Dr.  Lunt  stood  far  on  the  right  wing,  though 
not  on  the  extreme  right,  of  the  Unitarian  denomi¬ 
nation.  Reverence  for  antiquity  and  established 
belief,  for  the  early  Church  and  the  sacred  associa¬ 
tions  of  the  past,  wrought  strongly  within  him.  He 
loved  to  hold  fast,  so  far  as  he  could,  to  the  language 
of  Scripture,  and  to  the  doctrine,  liberally  inter¬ 
preted,  which  had  come  down  from  the  fathers.  He 
was  more  ready  to  accept  than  anxious  to  define 
hallowed  phrases.  While  he  was  open  to  new  light, 
he  was  jealous  of  innovations.  He  shrank  from  all 
approach  to  the  subversive  speculations  of  the  new¬ 
est  criticism.  While  he  repelled  with  every  power 


12 


BOSTON  UNITA RIANISM. 


of  his  intellect,  every  instinct  of  his  conscience,  every 
throb  of  his  heart,  the  dogmas  of  Calvinistic  divinity, 
yet  his  Puritan  soul  leaned  back,  as  far  as  it  dared, 
toward  ancient  formulas.  .  .  .  The  political  and 

reformatory  movements  of  the  day  he  was  slow  to 
admit  into  his  pulpit.  Controversial  religion  was 
not  to  his  liking.  The  Biblical  neologies  of  our  new 
times  were  an  offense,  if  not  an  alarm  to  him.  He 
held  the  literal  word  reverently  dear,  although  he 
endeavored  to  give  it  an  expansive  scope,  and  sought 
underneath  it  the  most  spiritual  significances.”  Noth¬ 
ing  could  be  more  exact  than  this  so  far  as  it  goes. 
But  it  should  be  added,  that  the  faith  we  are  con¬ 
cerned  with  laid  stress  on  the  old  virtues  of  private 
character — purity,  moderation,  kindness,  hospitality, 
generosity,  peacefulness,  hopefulness,  humility,  truth 
— rather  than  on  the  philosophical  foundations  of 
belief,  or  the  changes  necessary  to  perfect  society. 
Its  whole  purpose  was  to  create  good  men,  trusting 
to  their  influence  for  the  regeneration  of  mankind, 
avoiding  whatever,  by  causing  disturbance,  might 
alienate,  discourage,  or  divert  men  from  self-exami¬ 
nation  and  self-discipline.  It  was  certain  that  the 
multitude  cared  nothing  for  philosophical  specula¬ 
tion,  and  it  was  equally  certain  that  any  discussion 
of  social  themes  would  arouse  disaffection.  The 
field  of  Christian  character  was  wide,  and  its  ele¬ 
ments  were  well  understood  and  cordially  respected. 
We  need  not,  as  was  the  fashion,  impute  cowardice 
to  the  resolution  to  shun  dispute  and  division  and 


THREE  TYPES  OF  U N I T A RI A N ISM. 


J3 


pretentiousness.  There  was  a  deliberate  purpose  to 
keep  clear  of  “exciting”  subjects,  a  definite,  sys¬ 
tematic,  reasoned  exclusion  of  every  thing  that 
looked  like  an  introduction  of  controverted  topics. 
There  was  certainly  a  good  deal  to  be  said  in  favor 
of  the  policy  of  silence.  Timidity  there  was  as¬ 
suredly,  but  there  was  also  a  rationale  of  conserva¬ 
tism,  as  Emerson  explained.  Temperament  had  a 
good  deal  to  do  with  this  moral  quiescence ;  education 
played  a  large  part ;  association  was  important ;  social 
position,  for  the  clergy  were  at  the  head  of  the  social 
scale,  had  a  great  influence.  But  the  prime  circum¬ 
stance  of  all  was  a  theory  of  ministerial  responsibility 
to  the  profession.  The  Church  was  to  them  an 
institution,  a  divine  institution.  Its  forms  of  observ¬ 
ance  and  faith  were  appointed  from  on  high.  Its 
Christ  was  a  Saviour;  its  Bible  was  a  revelation. 
And  while  interpretations  might  differ  as  to  the 
meaning  of  the  creed,  or  the  significance  of  the  cere¬ 
monies,  there  they  were,  and  their  validity  must  be 
admitted  by  every  priest.  The  servant  must  serve 
dutifully.  He  that  rejects  the  Church  must  not  be¬ 
long  to  it.  If  one  wishes  to  throw  stones  at  the 
windows  he  must  go  outside.  This,  in  short,  was 
the  argument.  It  was  difficult,  if  not  impossible,  to 
answer,  half  a  century  or  more  ago.  Mr.  Emerson 
having  tried  in  vain  to  widen  the  Church,  left  it  for 
another  career.  George  Bipley  abandoned  it  because 
it  did  not  allow  of  industrial  experiments.  Parker 
remained  in  it,  though  he  too  had  virtually  seceded 


14 


BOSTON  UNITARIANISM. 


from  it,  having  dropped  the  sacraments,  discarded 
the  creed,  rejected  the  Bible  as  a  source  of  authority, 
deprived  Jesus  of  his  saving  attributes,  and  shifted 
the  centre  of  inspiration  to  another  basis.  His  pro¬ 
digious  popular  talent  enabled  him  to  undertake 
this.  Of  course,  he  was  perfectly  honest.  His  sin¬ 
cerity  was  above  dispute.  But  his  critics  said  that 
the  position  he  held  was  not  logical.  Nor  was  it. 
His  invincible  force  alone  made  it  tolerable ;  and  as 
they  did  not  possess  this  invincible  force,  they  could 
not  understand  it.  Now  all  is  changed;  but  then 
it  could  hardly  be  surprising  if  good  men — the  best 
men — postponed  their  private  wishes  and  closet  opin¬ 
ions  to  the  overwhelming  strength  of  the  instituted 
religion,  with  its  immense  influence,  its  all  but  uni¬ 
versal  following,  its  definite  hopes,  clear  promises, 
and  vast  benefactions.  Even  the  largest  humanities 
lay  concealed  there,  if  one  could  wait  for  them.  So 
these  men  wrought  in  faith,  and  were  patient.  They 
did  not  believe  in  leaving  their  ark.  Though  it 
floated  on  troubled  waters,  it  did  float.  It  was 
16  narrow  ”  ;  it  was  not  any  too  nice ;  still,  the  future 
of  man  seemed  to  be  in  it ;  the  dove  was  sent  out, 
the  pledge  of  dry  land  was  welcomed.  This  was  its 
prayer : 

And  still  on  life’s  baptizing  tide 
Or  sorrow’s  bitter  sea, 

Descending  Peace  be  multiplied 
And  hallow  hearts  to  Thee. 


II. 


AX  EXAMPLE. 

Perhaps  the  class  of  believers  here  described  can 
be  best  portrayed  by  an  instance,  and  I  choose  Na¬ 
thaniel  Langdon  Frothingham,  partly  because  I 
know  him  better  than  I  know  others,  partly  because 
my  own  disposition  furnishes,  in  some  degree,  a  key 
to  his,  and  partly  because  he  was  an  unique,  typical, 
well-known  person,  admirably  supplied  with  the 
qualities  that  illustrated  his  companions.  The  fam- 
%  was  an  old  one,  and,  in  some  of  its  branches, 
distinguished.  It  bore  a  coat-of-arms,  a  sign  of 
gentility.  The  origin  of  the  name  is  uncertain ;  it 
may  come  from  “Frod-hame”  (the  home  of  the 
sage),  or  from  “Fodder-hame  ”  (the  home  of  the 
man  who  furnishes  th  %  fodder  for  cattle),  or  “  Foight- 
ing-hame  51  (the  home  of  the  warrior).  In  Scotland 
it  was  associated  with  dukes.  “  Fotheringay  ”  may 
be  the  same  appellation.  The  spelling  was  various, 
Frottinghame,  F rattinghame,  Flathingham  .  The 
family  was  probably  of  Scottish  descent,  but  the 
“  Signiory  ”  of  Holderness  in  Yorkshire  appears  to 
have  been  its  chief  seat.  There  was  Frodinghame 

15 


1 6  BOSTON  UNITARIANISM . 

Hall,  tlie  residence  of  the  feudal  lords  of  the  soil 
from  near  the  Conquest  until  the  seventeenth  cen¬ 
tury.  A  certain  Piers  Frothingham  married  a  daugh¬ 
ter  of  Sir  William  Boynton  de  Sadberg,  in  1250. 
We  hear  of  a  Sir  Peter  Frothingham  in  1314;  of 
Sir  Peter  de  Frothingham,  his  descendant.  There 
was  a  Rev.  Sir  William  in  1503.  Sir  John  Lister 
Frothingham  was  knighted  by  Charles  I.  The 
Frothingham  s  of  Holderness  attained  to  some  opu¬ 
lence  through  mercantile  operations.  But  none  of 
this  splendor  lighted  on  the  William  Frothingham 
who  came  to  New  England,  probably  with  John 
Winthrop  in  1630;  who  was  appointed  in  1634  one 
of  eleven  Selectmen  of  Charlestown ;  and  was,  at 
first,  an  adherent  of  John  Wheelwright,  of  Anne 
Hutchinson  memory.  This  William  was  a  sort  of 
carpenter.  The  family  pursued  a  peaceful  and 
honest  calling  as  cabinet-makers,  joiners,  carriage- 
builders,  in  the  colony.  Of  this  William,  Nathaniel 
Langdon  was  a  direct  descendant.  His  father, 
Ebenezer,  was  a  crockery-merchant  and  appraiser 
of  taxes  in  Marshall’s  Lane,  near  the  Boston  Stone. 
He  married  Joanna  Langdon, — whence  the  middle 
name.  The  name  “  Nathaniel  ”  was  common  in  the 
family,  and  Miss  Langdon  had  a  brother  so  called, 
which  circumstance  added  weight  at  the  baptism 
of  the  eldest  son. 

Nathaniel  Langdon  Frothingham  was  born  on 
the  twenty-third  day  of  July,  1793.  The  house  still 
stands,  though  somewhat  altered  in  the  course  of 


AN  EXAMPLE . 


1 7 

years.  Before  the  Frothinghams  held  it  it  was 
owned  by  Ebenezer  Hancock,  younger  brother  of 
the  Governor,  who  was  paymaster  in  the  army,  an 
office  which  made  him  very  popular,  especially  when 
the  treasury  had  something  in  it.  The  house  was  a 
comfortable  brick  mansion,  not  stylish,  but  in  a 
fashionable  quarter  of  the  town,  on  a  narrow  way  at 
some  distance  from  the  main  street.  Boston  was 
then  a  small  place,  of  somewhat  over  thirty  thousand 
inhabitants.  Faneuil  Hall  was  standing,  so  was  the 
corn-market  near  by,  whence  comes  Corn  Hill ;  but 
the  spot  which  Quincy  Market  occupies  was  covered 
with  water.  The  “  Neck  ”  was  a  neck  indeed,  thin 
and  slender.  Charles  Street  bounded  the  city  on  the 
west.  The  mansion  of  Governor  Hancock  was  con¬ 
sidered  out  of  town.  The  child  was  too  young  to 
see  the  fifteen  milk-white  horses  which  drew  the 
corner-stone  of  the  new  State-House  to  its  place  on 
the  hill  in  the  “  Governor’s  Pasture,”  where,  on  the 
4th  of  July,  1795,  it  was  dedicated  with  grand 
masonic  ceremonies,  in  presence  of  Governor  Samuel 
Adams,  Paul  Revere  looking  on.  But  he  might 
have  witnessed  the  procession  when  the  members  of 
the  General  Court  walked  solemnly  from  the  old 
State-House  to  their  new  lodgings  in  Beacon  Street. 
For  this  was  in  1798. 

Yes,  Boston  was  a  small  town  territorially,  but 
intellectually  there  was  probably  no  city  in  the 
world  so  full  of  life.  It  was  always  remarkable  for 
explosions  of  mind.  Nor  is  this  wonderful  as  we 


i8 


BOSTON  UNITARTANISM. 


remember  the  character  of  the  men  who  founded  it, 
— their  mental  force,  their  education,  their  moral 
courage,  their  independence,  their  spiritual  energy 
One  of  the  first  things  they  did  was  to  found  a  col¬ 
lege.  In  1636  the  General  Court  voted  the  sum  of 
£400  towards  the  undertaking,  and  its  influence  has 
been  steadily  exerted  in  favor  of  thought.  Libraries 
sprang  up  rapidly,  stimulating  knowledge  of  every 
kind.  There  was  a  passion  for  learning.  There  was 
from  of  old  faith  in  reason,  and  faith  that  reason  would 
justify  reverence.  Books  multiplied.  It  is  true  that 
Noah  Webster  wrote  ten  letters  to  Dr.  Joseph  Priest¬ 
ley,  who  had  criticised  in  a  stately  manner  the  literary 
services  of  America, — letters  that  were  printed  in  a 
pamphlet  at  New  Haven  in  1801, — in  the  course  of 
which  he  allowed  that  “  our  colleges  are  disgrace¬ 
fully  destitute  of  books  and  philosophical  appara¬ 
tus  ” ;  that  “  scarcely  a  branch  of  science  can  be 
fully  investigated  in  America  ”  ;  that  “  in  the  higher 
branches  of  iiterature  our  learning  is  superficial  to  a 
shameful  degree  ”  ;  that  “  as  to  classical  learning, 
history,  civil  and  ecclesiastical,  mathematics,  astron¬ 
omy,  chemistry,  botany,  and  natural  history,  except¬ 
ing  here  and  there  a  rare  instance  of  a  man  who  is 
eminent  in  some  one  of  these  branches,  we  may  be 
said  to  have  no  learning  at  all,  or  a  mere  smattering  ” ; 
that  “  as  to  libraries,  we  have  no  such  thing.  There 
are  not  more  than  three  or  four  tolerable  libraries  in 
America,  and  these  are  extremely  imperfect.”  And 
George  Ticknor,  in  1814,  complained  that  “  good 


AN  EXAMPLE. 


l9 


school-books  were  rare  in  Boston,  and  that  no  copy 
of  Euripides,  in  Greek,  was  to  be  found  in  any  book¬ 
store  in  New  England.”  But  this  was  to  be  expected 
in  a  country  which  had  but  few  scholars,  was  poor, 
thinly  peopled,  and  mainly  devoted  to  industrial 
pursuits.  And  when  we  remember  that  Noah 
Webster  was  writing  to  a  man  of  science,  besides 
being  captious  himself,  and  that  George  Ticknor 
trod  the  upper  fields  of  literature,  there  is  pretty 
warm  praise.  Webster  asserts  that  “  almost  all  read 
the  best  English  authors.  ...  If  you  can  find  any 
country  in  Europe  where  this  is  done  to  the  same 
extent  as  in  New  England,  I  am  very  ill  informed.” 
(“  American  Men  of  Letters,  Noah  Webster,”  p.  106.) 
A  literary  club,  called  the  “  Anthology  Club,”  was 
formed  in  1804,  established  a  reading-room  in  1806, 
was  incorporated  as  the  Boston  Athenaeum  a  little 
while  afterwards.  After  two  locations — one  in 
Scollay  Square,  another  in  Tremont  Street,  where 
the  building  of  the  Historical  Society  now  stands — 
it  was  removed  to  Pearl  Street,  to  the  large  house 
presented  to  the  corporation  by  James  Perkins.  In 
1820  there  were  20,000  volumes  on  the  shelves. 
The  library  of  Harvard  University,  which  began 
with  300  volumes,  had  72,000  in  1850,  and  now 
numbers  more  than  300,000.  So  inordinate  was, 
from  the  outset,  the  craving  for  information.  My 
father  in  his  manhood  made  constant  use  of  the 
Athenaeum  and  of  Harvard  College  library.  At 
this  time,  or  soon  after,  there  were  fine  private  col- 


20 


BOSTON  UNIT  A  RIA  N ISM. 


lections  of  books  :  Charles  F.  Adams’  (18,000),  W. 
H.  Prescott’s  (16,000),  George  Ticknor’s  (13,000),  Ed¬ 
ward  Everett’s  (7,500).  Every  gentleman  had  books* 
Public  schools  were  established  early,  the  first  one 
being  opened  in  1635.  Private  schools  had  patrons. 
u  The  teaching  and  maturing  ”  of  youth  was  immedi¬ 
ately  thought  of.  John  Cotton,  it  is  thought,  set  on 
foot  the  Latin  School,  having  brought  from  old 
Boston,  in  Lincolnshire,  the  memory  of  the  Free 
Grammar  School  founded  by  Queen  Mary.  When 
young  Frothingham  was  ready  to  go,  it  was  prob¬ 
ably  under  the  charge  of  Samuel  Hunt,  who  took 
the  head  mastership  in  1776,  and  remained  in 
possession  for  about  thirty  years.  The  school¬ 
building  then  stood  where  the  Parker  House  is 
now.  Mr.  Hunt  was  a  master  of  the  ancient  type, 
but  there  is  no  record  of  young  Frothingham  as 
being  an  unruly  lad,  or  any  thing  but  a  good 
scholar.  The  fact  that  he  afterward  was  a  tutor 
there  is  evidence  of  that. 

From  the  Latin  school  he  went,  naturally,  to 
Harvard  College.  Harvard  Hall  was  at  that  time 
the  centre  of  college  life.  There  the  professors  met 
the  pupils,  there  the  pupils  met  each  other ;  there 
was  the  library.  University  Hall  was  not  built 
until  1815.  When  Frothingham  entered  there  were 
three  dormitories,  Massachusetts  Hall,  Hollis,  and 
Stoughton.  The  college  yard  was  considerably 
smaller  than  it  is  now. 

Samuel  Webber,  the  former  Professor  of  Mathe- 


AN  EXAMPLE. 


21 


matics,  was  inaugurated  President  of  the  College  or. 
May  12,  1806,  but  died  on  July  7,  1810  ;  and  John 
Thornton  Kirkland  was  chosen  in  his  place.  He 
was  inaugurated  on  the  14th  of  November,  1810, 
and  had  a  distinguished  administration.  Early  in 
his  career  attention  was  turned  to  the  necessity  of 
establishing  a  School  of  Theology  in  the  University. 
The  bequest  of  the  Hon.  Samuel  Dexter  of  $5,000 
for  the  purpose  of  promoting  a  “  critical  knowledge 
of  the  Holy  Scriptures  ”  was  announced  to  the  Cor¬ 
poration  by  his  son  about  live  months  before  Dr. 
Kirkland  came  in.  In  May,  1811,  trustees  of  the 
Dexter  Fund  were  appointed,  and  in  August  of  the 
same  year  Joseph  Stevens  Buckminster  was  chosen 
Dexter  Lecturer  on  Biblical  Criticism.  This  re¬ 
markable  step  was  preceded  by  a  period  of  gradual 
change  in  doctrinal  opinion,  and  led  to  the  forma¬ 
tion,  in  1816,  of  “  A  Society  for  the  Promotion  of 
Theological  Education  in  Harvard  University,”  with 
this  fundamental  article  in  its  constitution  :  “  It  be¬ 
ing  understood  that  every  encouragement  be  given 
to  the  serious,  impartial,  and  unbiassed  investigation 
of  Christian  truth,  and  that  no  assent  to  the  peculi- 

dther  of  the 

Students,  or  Professors,  or  Instructors.”  The  Society 
was  officered  as  follows  :  John  Thornton  Kirkland, 
D.  D.,  President  /  Samuel  Parkman,  Israel  Thorn¬ 
dike,  and  Peter  C.  Brooks,  Vice-Presidents  /  Francis 
Parkman,  Recording  Secretary  /  Charles  Lowell,  Cor¬ 
responding  Secretary  ;  Jonathan  Phillips,  Treasurer  ; 


arities  of  any  denomination  be  required 


22 


BOSTON  UNI  TA  RIA  N ISM. 


James  Savage  Vice-Treasurer  /  Dr.  Porter,  Joseph 
Story,  Josiah  Bartlett,  Daniel  A.  White,  Joseph 
Coolidge,  James  Perkins,  Dr.  Popkin,  Charles  Davis, 
John  Plowe,  Directors  /  Benjamin  Pickman,  William 
I  Prescott,  James  Lloyd,  Josiah  Quincy,  Andrew 
Bitchie,  Trustees /  Thomas  Wigglesworth,  Samuel 
May,  Israel  Manson,  Auditors .  Life  subscriptions, 
annual  subscriptions,  and  donations  supported  the 
Society. 

u  Commencement  ”  at  Plarvard  was  a  great  day,  a 
public  day,  festive  and  showy.  It  was  formerly 
wild,  turbulent,  rude,  as  the  4th  of  July  was,  as  all 
holidays  were ;  but  it  had  become  more  decorous 
and  elegant.  Young  Frothingham  had  an  English 
oration,  the  subject  of  which  was  “  The  Cultivation 
of  the  Taste  and  Imagination,”  and  which  was  de¬ 
scribed  by  Dr.  Pierce  as  “  written  with  purity  and 
pronounced  with  elegance.” 

Of  the  career  at  Cambridge  little  is  known.  He 
was  an  exemplary  youth,  dutiful,  diligent,  faithful ;; 
but  he  did  not  distinguish  himself  until  his  third 
year,  when  he  became  eminent  as  a  classical  scholar, 
as  a  writer  of  pure  English,  as  a  rhetorician,  the 
special  favorite  of  Joseph  McKean,  the  Professor  of 
Oratory.  His  selection  for  the  English  oration  on 
graduating  and  his  later  appointment  as  teacher  of 
rhetoric  and  oratory  at  the  age  of  nineteen  are  proofs 
of  his  capacity  and  taste.  He  was  of  the  class  of 
1811;  was  but  eighteen  when  he  graduated;  was- 
preceptor  for  three  years,  studied  divinity  in  the 


AN  EXAMPLE. 


23 


meantime,  and  was  ordained  minister  of  the  First 
Church  in  Boston,  in  1815.  Here  he  remained  as 

.7 

long  as  he  was  able  to  fill  a  pulpit,  leading  a  literary 
and  churchly  life,  devoted  to  parish  work,  secluded 
and  laborious.  The  duties  at  Cambridge  were  not 
arduous,  and  it  was  easy  to  prepare  for  a  profession 
which,  at  that  time,  required  no  outward  experience 
of  a  social  kind,  but  a  large  accpiaintance  with  books 
and  opinions.  The  Church  was  then  the  great  open¬ 
ing  for  aspiring  young  men.  Theology  was  the  most 
tempting  study.  The  ministry  was  the  chosen  pro¬ 
fession.  Edward  Everett,  Frothingham’s  classmate, 
was  first  a  clergyman ;  so  were  Mr.  Palfrey  and 
Mr.  Sparks.  Advancement  was  through  this  call¬ 
ing.  Literature  clustered  about  it.  The  community 
honored  it.  It  was  devoted  to  the  highest  ends, 
those  of  piety,  humanity,  and  knowledge.  It  was 
ideal  in  the  most  exalted  sense.  It  gave  the  widest 
expansion  to  the  mind.  The  Unitarian  ministry,  in 
particular,  greatly  owing  to  the  influence  of  Dr. 
Kirkland  and  Mr.  Buckminster,  was  the  resort  of 
aspiring  souls  and  opened  a  large  career.  Botlh 
science  and  philosophy  were  in  this  country  but 
speculations,  untried  and  ineffectual.  The  English 
and  Scotch  scholars  had  the  field,  and  it  was  undis¬ 
puted.  Literature  was  baptized  into  the  name  of 
religion,  and  learning  was  identical  with  belief  in 
the  Gospel.  Criticism  was  confined  to  Germany. 
Infidelity  had  a  bad  name.  But  inside  of  Christian¬ 
ity  reason  was  free ;  mind  was  unfettered  ;  conscience 


24 


BOSTON  UNIT  A  RIANISM. 


was  buoyant,  energetic,  humane ;  each  had  room 
enough.  Ardent  spirits  found  faith  secure,  and 
spirits  not  ardent  could  repose  and  ponder  at  lei-, 
sure.  There  was  no  turmoil,  no  exciting  warfare,  no 
moral  agitation.  The  political  as  well  as  the  social 
horizon  was  unclouded.  The  period  of  anti-slavery 
struggle  had  not  begun.  Transcendentalism  was 
unborn  ;  Humanitarianism  was  still  in  the  air ;  Ra¬ 
tionalism,  in  the  later  objectionable  sense,  was  un¬ 
heard  of.  Ripley  and  Emerson  were  boys,  Parker 
was  a  child,  C banning  had  not  preached  his  Balti¬ 
more  sermon.  Mr.  Frothingham  had  been  five  years 
in  the  pulpit  when  the  Unitarian  controversy  broke 
out,  so  guileless  was  the  current  opinion,  so  light 
was  the  bondage  of  the  creed,  so  easy  was  it  to 
“  walk  large  ”  over  the  religious  domain,  changing 
idols  into  ideals,  sacraments  into  symbols,  and  dog¬ 
mas  into  sentiments.  The  Unitarian  schism  was 
probably  inevitable,  and  we  are  bound  to  believe 
was,  on  the  whole,  beneficial  to  the  cause  of  truth. 
But  in  his  moments  of  sentimentalism  one  is  inclined 
to  wish  that  the  bitterness  of  dispute  might  have 
been  spared,  that  the  gradual  transformation  of  the 
ancient  faith  might  have  been  allowed  to  go  peace¬ 
fully  on.  The  old  bottles  must  break  under  the 
pressure  of  fermentation  in  the  new  wine,  but  we 
cannot  severely  blame  those  who,  wishing  to  pre¬ 
serve  the  well-seasoned  jars,  diluted  the  wine  and 
prevented  the  fermentation.  They  were  determined 
to  exhaust  the  capacity  of  the  beloved  vessels  before 


AN  EXAMPLE. 


25 


trying  new  ones,  and  naturally  felt  a  tenderness  for 
tlie  rich  skins  that  interfered  somewhat  with  their 
liking  for  the  wine.  In  fact  they  did  not  believe  in 
the  quality  of  the  new  wine,  being  deeply  persuaded 
that  the  branch  could  not  bear  fruit  itself,  unless  it 
abode  in  the  vine,  and  that  Christ  was  the  vine.  To 
doubt  that,  was  not  to  be  thought  of.  Whatever 
else  might  be  questioned,  this  stood  fast.  This  must 
be  assumed  as  a  first  principle.  All  Christian  faith 
was  built  on  this,  new  and  old  alike,  and  although 
the  interpretations  of  the  Saviour’s  rank,  mission, 
office,  might  vary  as  years  went  on,  this  central 
position  remained  unassailable. 


III. 


THE  FIRST  CHTJRCH. 

The  history  of  the  First  Church  in  Boston  deserves 
serious  study.  It  is  the  history  of  spiritual  New 
England ;  a  history  of  intellectual  growth.  I  am 
convinced  that  an  instructive  chapter  in  the  story  of 
evolution  might  be  written,  showing  that  Trans¬ 
cendentalism  was  a  legitimate  product  of  Puritanism ; 
that  Emerson  was  a  direct  descendant  of  the  Mathers. 
The  sacerdotalism  had  long  ago  dropped  off ;  the 
dogmatism  had  disappeared ;  but  the  force  of  the 
idealism  persisted,  and  faith  in  the  moral  nature  of 
man,  which  was  the  distinguishing  feature  of  Emer¬ 
son’s  teaching,  rose  high.  The  church  had  deep 
foundations.  It  was  first  organized  in  Charlestown 
by  John  Winthrop  and  his  friends,  in  pursuance  of 
their  plan  to  make  the  Christian  virtues  supreme. 
So  eager  were  they  that  they  could  not  wait  for  any 
meeting-house,  even  the  humblest,  but  gathered  under 
a  tree,  thus  foreshadowing  Bryant’s  idea  in  regard  to 
man’s  “  first  temples.” 

“  The  groves  were  God's  first  temples.” 

26 


THE  FIRST  CHURCH. 


27 


On  the  same  clay,  August  27,  1630,  Rev.  John 
Wilson  was  installed  as  “  teacher.”  Next  year  a 
removal  to  the  south  side  of  the  river  took  place, 
and,  in  1632,  a  house  of  worship  was  erected  on  the 
south  side  of  State  Street,  on  the  corner  of  Devon¬ 
shire  Street.  It  w'as  exceedingly  simple,  with  mud 
walls  and  thatched  roof.  The  second  meeting-house 
was  built  on  Washington  Street,  opposite  State 
Street,  then  “  Cornhill  Square.”  This  was  more 
stately,  and  was  burned  in  the  lire  of  October,  1710. 
The  third  house,  erected  on  the  same  spot,  and 
familiarly  known  as  the  “  Old  Brick,”  was  dedicated 
on  May  3,  1713.  This  was  taken  down  in  1808, 
and,  the  same  year,  the  building  in  Chauncy  Place 
was  put  up.  The  “  Governor’s  pew  ”  in  the  “  Old 
Brick”  was  a  conspicuous  object,  with  its  curtains 
and  its  raised  platform.  The  architecture  was  of  the 
colonial  period,  unadorned  and  simple,  yet  cheerful 
too.  The  Chauncy  Place  meeting-house  was  altered 
in  the  summer  of  1843,  a  flat  roof  of  colored  panes 
being  substituted  for  the  high  ceiling,  and  giving 
rise  to  the  witticism  that  Dr.  Frothingham  was  going 
to  try  to  “  raise  Christians  under  glass.”  Business 
claimed  this  site  also,  and  in  1868  the  new  edifice 
at  the  corner  of  Marlborough  and  Berkeley  streets 
received  the  society. 

Mr.  Frothingham  was  ordained,  after  a  unanimous 
invitation,  on  the  15th  of  March,  1815,  Dr.  McKean 
preaching  the  sermon,  Mi*.  Channing  offering  the 
prayer  of  consecration,  Dr.  John  Lathrop  giving  the 


28 


BOSTON  UN/TAR/A N ISM. 


charge,  Mr.  Thacher  making  the  address  to  the  people, 
Dr.  Henry  Ware,  the  elder,  offering  the  opening 
supplication.  There  was  an  ecclesiastical  council,  of 
course,  and  a  dinner  after  the  exercises  at  “  Concert 
Hall.”  Hymns  of  a  solemn  strain  were  sung  after 
the  dinner,  which,  we  may  hope,  was  festive. 

The  predecessors  of  Mr.  Frothingham  were  re¬ 
markable  men — some  of  them  distinguished  :  John 
Wilson,  John  Cotton,  John  Norton,  John  Davenport, 
James  Allen,  John  Oxenbridge,  Benjamin  Wads¬ 
worth,  Thomas  Bridge,  Thomas  Foxcroft,  Charles 
Chauncy,  John  Clarke,  William  Emerson,  John 
Love  joy  Abbot.  Dr.  Chauncy  was  my  father’s 
favorite,  apparently  on  account  of  his  liberality  and 
sweetness.  In  a  discourse  on  occasion  of  the  two 
hundredth  anniversary  of  the  church’s  existence, 
August  29,  1830,  he  wrote  this:  “With  Chauxcy 
a  new  era  commenced.  He  viewed  religion  with 
naked  human  eyes,  and  not  in  unreal  visions,  or 
through  the  discolored  and  distorting  medium  of 
technical  systems.  He  looked  upon  the  world,  and 
was  not  afraid  to  bind  up  his  hopes  in  the  common 
hopes  of  mankind.  He  looked  up  to  heaven,  and  its 
throne  was  to  him  tilled  with  the  unclouded  radiancy 
of  love.  He  beheld  the  churches  agitated  with  a 
storm  of  religious  excitement,  and  he  rebuked  both 
the  winds  and  the  sea.”  Dr.  Chauncy  was  minister 
from  October,  1727,  until  February,  1787.  He  was 
not  technically  a  Unitarian — that  is,  he  did  not  deny 
the  Trinity,  but  his  was  the  religion  of  the  heart,  and 


THE  FIRST  CHURCH. 


29 


lie  admitted  the  humanity,  while  preserving  the 
dignity,  of  his  profession.  A  curious  illustration  of 
this  was  his  driving  through  the  streets  of  Boston  in 
an  old-fashioned  chaise  with  long  shafts,  and  a  seat 
for  the  driver  where  our  whiffletree  is.  The  doctor 
sat  up  straight,  in  a  cocked  hat  and  with  a  gold¬ 
headed  cane,  and  the  driver,  who,  in  this  case,  was  a 
negro  hoy,  gave  his  companions,  as  he  met  them,  a 
touch  with  his  whip.  The  picture  was  a  droll  one, 
— the  city,  the  vehicle,  the  stately  parson,  the  small 
snip  of  a  hoy,  the  absence  of  rebuke.  In  all  the 
history  of  the  church  there  was  no  discussion  on 
theological  grounds,  strictly.  There  might  have  been 
a  difference  of  opinion,  but  there  was  no  dispute 
about  beliefs.  Change  in  belief  came  gradually  and 
almost  imperceptibly.  There  was  simply  a  more 
generous  interpretation  of  ancient  formulas.  Of 
the  least  theological  disaffection  in  the  church,  no 
record  is  extant. 

The  original  covenant  of  the  church,  never  dis¬ 
avowed  or  altered,  is  exceedingly  tender,  spiritual, 
and  humane.  There  is  no  savor  of  dogmatism  about 
it.  Here  it  is  : 

“In  the  name  of  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ  and  in 
obedience  to  His  holy  will  and  Divine  ordinance. 

“We  whose  names  are  hereunder  written,  being 
by  His  most  wise  and  good  Providence  brought 
together  into  this  part  of  America  in  the  Bay  of 
Massachusetts,  and  desirous  to  unite  ourselves  into 
one  congregation  or  church,  under  the  Lord  Jesus 


30 


BOS  TON  UNI TA RIA NISM. 


Christ  our  Head,  iu  such  faith  as  becometh  all  those 
whom  He  hath  redeemed  and  sanctified  to  Himself, 
do  hereby  solemnly  and  religiously  (as  in  His  most 
holy  presence)  promise,  and  bind  ourselves,  to  walk 
in  all  our  ways  according  to  the  rule  of  the  Gospels, 
and  in  mutual  love,  and  respect  each  to  the  other,  so 
far  as  God  shall  give  us  grace.” 

This  Covenant  was  repeated,  on  the  occasion  of 
the  installation  of  the  present  minister,  the  faith  was 
reiterated,  the  pledge  emphasized.  The  condition  of 
the  promise  “  to  walk  in  all  our  ways  according  to 
the  rule  of  the  Gospels,  so  far  as  God  shall  give  us 
grace”  proved  to  be  quite  necessary,  foi:  there  en¬ 
sued  a  sharp  collision  between  the  first  incumbents 
when  the  “  Antinomian  Controversy  ”  raged,  and 
there  were  occasional  infelicities  of  temper,  but  the 
purity  of  the  faith  was  unbroken.  The  belief  in  the 
divinity  of  the  Son  of  God,  His  special  mission  as 
Saviour  of  the  world,  and  in  the  Bible  as  a  direct 
revelation  of  the  Supreme  Will,  was  the  traditional 
creed  of  the  church  which  no  member  was  at  liberty 
to  disavow.  Whatever  might  be  objected  to  it  from 
outside,  inside  the  communion  every  man  of  honor 
was  bound  by  it  so  long  as  he  remained ;  so  long,  that 
is,  as  his  private  convictions  allowed  him  to  profess 
it  as,  in  the  main,  true.  The  large  indefiniteness  of 
the  articles  rendered  it  easy  to  interpret  them  liber¬ 
ally,  and  to  submit  private  thoughts  to  public 
declarations,  in  the  interest  of  brotherhood  and 
spiritual  edification.  The  love  of  Christ  was  con- 


THE  FIRST  CHURCH. 


31 


straining  and  inasmuch  as  no  fetters  of  dogmatism 
were  felt,  the  mind  could  range  over  a  broad  field 
without  disloyalty. 

One  usage  Mr.  Cotton  brought  over  from  old 
Boston  in  Lincolnshire,  the  famous  lecture  which  he 
preached  every  Thursday,  while  he  was  under  the 
directions  of  the  Bishop  of  Lincoln,  and  in  relations 
of  friendship  with  the  Earl  of  the  same  title.  It  was 
well  called  u  great,”  for  great  it  was  at  first.  On  the 
very  month  of  its  establishment  the  Court  issued  an 
order  prescribing  the  hour  at  which  it  should  be 
attended,  one  o’clock  in  the  day.  The  hour  was 
presently  changed,  first  to  twelve  o’clock,  and, 
towards  the  close  of  the  century,  to  eleven.  This 
was  in  the  time  of  Increase  Mather,  who  reproved 
the  people  for  their  slack  attendance,  and  declared 
that  “  it  would  be  an  omen  of  their  not  enjoying  it 
long,  if  they  did  not  amend.”.  But  in  the  beginning 
there  was  no  tardiness.  On  the  4th  of  March,  1634, 

bv  order  of  court  a  “  marcate  ”  was  erected  at 

«/ 

Boston,  to  be  kept  upon  Thursday  the  5th  day  of 
the  week,  being  the  lecture  day.”  About  the  same 
time,  an  excommunicated  person  was  compelled  to 
confess,  among  other  offences,  his  “  sometimes  for¬ 
saking  the  Lecture,” — for  the  sake  of  some  vicious 
indulgence,  it  was  surmised.  At  the  meeting  all 
that  was  most  honorable  was  in  attendance.  The 
governor  was  present,  the  counsellors  were  in  at¬ 
tendance  ;  the  magistrates,  the  dignitaries,  the  people 
of  all  conditions,  from  miles  around.  The  villages 


32 


BOSTON  UNIT  A  RIA  N ISM. 


sent  tlieir  pastors  and  farmers.  The  college  sent 
its  officers  and  students.  The  schools  dismissed 
their  pupils,  for  all  minor  instruction  must  cease. 
The  circumstance  that  Thursday  was  fixed  for 
public  executions  and  that  the  culprit  had  to  at¬ 
tend  on  the  sermon,  may  have  had  an  effect  in 
drawing  a  crowd.  The  social  customs  and  even  the 
dress  of  men  and  women  were  affected.  The  rules  of 
conduct,  the  tenets  of  faith,  the  laws  of  the  State 
felt  the  influence.  There  were  rows  of  scarlet 
cloaks,  and  piles  of  artificial  hair,  and  the  bright 
faces  of  beauty.  The  lecture  was  followed  by  a 
gathering  of  the  people,  the  discussion  of  municipal 
regulations,  and  the  consideration  of  all  matters  that 
concerned  the  community. 

From  this  high  estate  the  institution  went  through 
several  processes  of  decline.  Its  honor  decreased, 
its  attendance  fell  off,  the  cold  weather  sensibly 
diminished  the  audience.  In  the  winter  of  1715, 
during  a  violent  snow-storm,  the  worshippers  were  so 
few  that  some  curious  chronicler  counted  but  sixteen 
women  and  two  hundred  men.  In  1830  scarcely  a 
vestige  of  its  ancient  renown  remained.  During  the 
siege  of  Boston,  in  the  war  of  the  Revolution,  it  was 
discontinued  altogether,  but  was  resumed  on  the 
deliverance  of  the  town  from  the  British.  The  offi¬ 
cers  of  the  American  army  celebrated  their  victory  in 
the  First  Church;  Washington  came;  there  was 
u  awful  mirth.”  But  the  glory  was  of  short  con¬ 
tinuance.  The  joy  was  rather  civil  than  religious; 


THE  FIRST  CHURCH . 


33 


and  the  temple  might  have  been  closed  for  this 
ceremony  then. 

In  my  youth  the  Thursday  Lecture  was  but  a 
shade  of  the  past.  Ministers  of  the  neighboring 
towns  came  to  Boston  on  that  day  because  it  was 
convenient,  and  held  a  sort  of  exchange  at  a  book¬ 
store  on  Washington  Street,  greeting  each  other  and 
arranging  for  Sunday,  as  was  the  custom  at  that 
period.  They  made  the  chief  part  of  that  small  con¬ 
gregation.  The  magistrates  were  not  there.  The 
business  men  were  not  there.  Fashion  was  not  there. 
A  few  ladies — mostly  aged  and  in  black,  with  smell¬ 
ing-bottles — made  a  point  of  going,  to  keep  up  appear¬ 
ances.  The  galleries  were  empty;  the  pews  were 
thinly  peopled.  The  music  was  of  that  extremely 
simple  kind  which  one  expects  from  voluntary  efforts : 
— a  son  of  the  minister  of  the  First  Church  played  the 
organ,  and  another  son  blew  the  bellows.  The  clamor 
for  the  office  of  preacher  was  feeble  on  the  part  of 
the  brethren.  The  man  whose  turn  it  was  regarded 
himself  in  the  light  of  a  victim.  The  whole  per¬ 
formance  was  unreal.  The  ordinance  flamed  up  for 
an  instant  when  Theodore  Parker  occupied  the  pul¬ 
pit,  but  the  excitement  was  for  that  occasion  only. 
In  order  to  avoid  any  such  demonstration  in  the 
future,  it  was  determined  to  exclude  Mr.  Parker, — 
a  process  that  should  not  have  been  necessary,  as  the 
man  certainly  had  no  place  in  the  First  Church. 
With  this  end  in  view  it  was,  after  much  discussion 

in  the  Boston  Association,  resolved  that  the  minis- 
3 


34 


BOSTON  UNIT  A  RIA  N ISM. 


ter  of  the  church  should,  as  at  first,  take  the  ser¬ 
vice  into  his  own  hands,  and  invite  whomever  he 
would  to  help  him.  This  was,  perhaps,  the  best 
course  that  was  open.  It  is  true  that  this  ancient 
prerogative  had  been  virtually  surrendered  a  hun¬ 
dred  and  sixty-five  years  before,  but  this  was  not 
of  public  record.  It  seems  that  in  1679,  less  than 
a  generation  after  Mr.  Cotton’s  death,  which  oc¬ 
curred  in  1652,  there  was  passed  “  an  order  and 
advice  of  ye  magistrates,  yt  all  the  elders  of  this 
towne  might  jointly  carry  on  the  5th  day  lecture.” 
This  order  was  reluctantly  accepted  by  the  minis¬ 
ters  in  office,  as  appears.  “  In  answer  to  ye  HonecL 
Magistrates  about  the  Lecture ;  Tho’  as  an  injunc¬ 
tion  wee  cannot  concur  with  it,  but  doe  humbly  bare 
our  witness  against  it,  as  apprehending  its  tending  to 
ye  infringement  of  Church  Libertie ;  yet  if  the  Lord 
incline  the  hearts  of  the  other  Teaching  officers  of 
this  time  to  accept  of  ye  desire  of  our  officers,  to  give 
ye  assistance  with  those  of  this  church,  who  shall 
be  desired  to  carry  on  their  fifth  day  lecture,  wee 
are  willing  to  accept  their  help  therein.”  From 
that  time,  other  ministers,  as  they  were  added  to 
the  Congregational  body,  and  were  disposed,  took 
part  in  the  exercises,  and  the  original  practice  was 
discontinued. 

It  would  not  be  fair,  however,  to  impute  the  new 
departure  wholly  to  a  dislike  of  Mr.  Parker.  The 
Standing  Committee  of  the  church  complained  of 
the  promiscuous  crowd  of  people,  the  consequent 


THE  FIRST  CHURCH. 


35 


dirt,  the  injury  done  to  furniture,  and  said  they 
could  not  heat  the  building,  or  ask  the  sexton  to 
clean  it,  for  such  performances.  This  protest  fell 
in  with  the  desire  to  restore  the  ancient  usasre.  The 

O 

plan  was  pursued  for  some  time,  but  the  old  position 
was  never  recovered.  It  was  generally  thought  that 
the  new  device  was  aimed  at  “  rationalism  ”  ;  to  be,  in 
its  intent,  exclusive,  and  this  brought  it  into  disrepute. 
Mr.  Parker,  too,  had  numerous  allies,  who  cried  out 
against  what  they  called  persecution.  Then,  it  was 
more  difficult  than  ever,  in  the  divided  state  of 
opinion,  to  find  men  to  fill  the  place.  Still,  the 
plan,  as  I  said,  was  persevered  in.  In  Dr.  Frothing- 
ham’s  diary,  under  date  of  February  8,  1849,  there 
is  this  entry :  “  Preached  the  Thursday  Lecture  in 
course.”  Again  (November  2d) :  “  Preached  ye  Lec¬ 
ture,  Mr.  Robbins  failing  to  appear.”  On  Sunday, 
March  10, 1850,  his  farewell  sermon  was  delivered,  and 
the  lecture  lapsed  for  a  time.  Dr.  Frothingham’s  suc¬ 
cessor,  Rev.  Rufus  Ellis,  tried  to  revive  it  in  1858, 
five  years  after  his  installation,  and  invited  ministers 
of  all  denominations,  not  Congregationalists  alone, 
but  Episcopalians  as  well,  Methodists,  Orthodox  of 
different  names.  Among  others,  James  Freeman 
Clarke  and  J.  L.  Diman  preached.  But  this  arrange¬ 
ment  did  not  last  longer  than  three  or  four  years. 
Then  the  famous  lecture, — which  in  the  Old  World 
had  started  the  Congregational  idea,  for  Congrega¬ 
tionalism  seems  to  have  grown  out  of  this  indepen¬ 
dent,  popular  discourse,  and  in  the  New  World 


3° 


BOSTON  UNITARIANISM . 


was  closely  associated  witli  the  affairs  of  State 
and  society, — disappeared  from  view.  While  the 
edifice  in  Chauncy  Place  was  yet  standing,  it  van¬ 
ished.  The  house  on  Berkeley  Street  never  knew  it. 
A  history  of  the  lecture  down  to  1833  was  given  in 
a  discourse  entitled  “  The  Shade  of  the  Past,”  by 
N.  L.  Frothingham.  Its  subsequent  history  may  be 
found  in  Mr.  Arthur  B.  Ellis’  excellent  “  History  of 
the  First  Church.” 

It  should  be  added  that  no  special  preparation 
for  the  lecture  was  expected.  Ministers  brought 
sermons  which  they  had  on  hand.  The  day  was 
simply  a  gospel  day,  an  opportunity  for  spiritual 
edification  ;  an  hour  of  grace  between  the  Sundays ; 
a  link  in  the  chain  of  divine  ministration ;  an  as¬ 
sertion  that  there  were  no  purely  secular  seasons, 
that  all  days  were  the  Lord’s. 


IV. 

THE  DOGMATICAL  POSITION. 

This  is  tlie  place  to  give  some  account  of  the 
dogmatical  and  ecclesiastical  relations  of  the  Uni¬ 
tarians  I  am  describing.  My  father,  and  with  him 
all  his  friends,  was  absorbed  in  the  endeavor  to 
apply  Christianity  to  personal  character,  taking  men 
and  women  one  by  one  and  trusting  to  their  influence 
for  the  regeneration  of  society.  With  the  philosophy 
of  religion  they  had  no  concern.  Christianity  was 
the  established  faith.  They  thought  of  no  other. 
And  this,  I  repeat,  was  an  institution,  with  roots  in 
history,  and  traditional  beliefs,  which  might  be  modi¬ 
fied  but  could  not  be  abolished.  Life  was  consumed 
in  services  to  individual  souls,  rendered  in  public 
and  in  private.  The  diary  has  in  it  nothing  but 
records  of  prayers  with  the  sick,  visits  of  consolation 
to  the  afflicted,  ministrations  of  hope  to  the  dying, 
benedictions  over  the  dead,  words  of  admonition  or 
cheer  for  those  entering  upon  the  duties  of  existence. 
There  was  great  diligence  in  sermon  writing,  between 
thirty  and  forty  sermons  a  year,  sometimes  more, 
being  prepared.  There  were  journeys  on  evangel- 


37 


38 


BOSTON  UNI TA RIA N ISM. 


izing  work,  errands  in  aid  of  a  brother,  exchanges 
at  a  distance,  baptizings,  communions,  counsellings. 

The  religion  was  essentially  the  old  one,  softened 
by  thought,  knowledge,  experience,  feeling ;  a  faith 
rather  than  a  creed,  a  sentiment  more  than  a  dogma, 
not  sharp  in  outline,  but  full  of  emotion  and  charged 
with  conviction,  slightly  illogical  perhaps,  but  firm, 
— a  religion  of  the  heart.  I  shall  give  its  main  points 
in  the  language  of  my  father,  than  which  none  can 
be  more  precise.  This  language  is  taken  from  dis¬ 
courses  preached  in  the  regular  course  of  ministry, 
for  there  is  no  formal  theological  treatise.  It  was 
not  his  way  to  write  such,  nor  the  way  of  his  friends. 
And  if  it  is  objected  that  the  statements  lack  some¬ 
thing  of  the  exactness  of  definition  that  belongs  to  a 
creed,  it  should  be  remembered  that  the  words  are 
addressed  to  the  spiritual  nature,  and  aim  rather  to 
awaken  the  sensibilities  than  to  satisfy  the  under¬ 
standing.  In  fact,  the  very  theory  was  that  the 
religious  sentiment  was,  not  supreme  only  in  im¬ 
portance,  but  the  most  valid  interpreter  of  faith. 
The  following  is  a  just  account  of  the  position : 

“  Such  is  a  brief  statement  of  our  leading  doctrines. 
We  hold  them  as  important.  We  embrace  them  as 
precious.  At  the  same  time  we  openly  declare  that 
we  prefer  a  lovely  disposition,  and  a  virtuous  purpose, 
and  a  heart  that  is  right  before  God  and  man,  to  any 
mere  speculative  conclusions  whatever.”  And  again : 

“  But  it  will  be  said,  and  not  without  reason,  that 
this  effect  will  hardly  be  produced  at  all,  unless  there 


THE  DOGMATICAL  POSITION. 


39 


are  some  positive  doctrines,  however  faintly  recog. 
nized,  to-  which  it  stands  in  relation.  There  must  be 
something  underneath,  on  which  conviction  is  built, 
if  we  would  maintain  it  for  any  rational  support. 
Even  though  we  are  not  aware  of  it,  it  must  be  there 
in  the  substance  of  some  divine  truth.  We  admit 
that  this  is  to  some  extent  so,  and  yet  we  should  not 
lose  sight  of  the  fact  that  faith  is  more  of  a  sentiment 
than  of  a  rigid  rule.  It  is  a  child  of  the  affections. 
While  on  one  side  it  deals  with  arguments  and  evi¬ 
dence,  and  arrays  itself  in  texts  and  formularies, 
appearing,  like  the  wise  son  of  David,  clad  ‘in  all 
his  glory’;  on  the  other  hand,  it  unfolds  itself  in  the 
responsibilities  of  a  well-ordered  nature,  a  spon¬ 
taneous  ‘  lily  of  the  field,’  more  glorious  still.  And 
we  are  not  apt  to  do  justice  enough  to  this  unarti¬ 
ficial  growth.  We  are  too  fond  of  speculating  and 
disputing  and  drawing  lines  of  theological  demarka- 
tion,  instead  of  repairing  to  the  great  elements  of 
religion  and  humanity,  and  considering  that  the  same 
tranquil  assurance  may  exist  on  both  sides  of  any 
line  that  you  can  draw.” 

Here  is  his  most  positive  assertion  of  the  claims 
of  credence,  and  his  hardest  speech  against  those 
who  rejected  Christianity  as  a  form  of  belief. 
It  is  from  the  four  discourses,  “  Deism  or  Chris¬ 
tianity,”  preached  in  1845  against  the  opinions 
ascribed  to  Theodore  Parker : 

“  The  denomination  to  which  wTe  belong  took  its 
origin  in  resistance  to  confessions  that  it  could  not 


40 


BOSTON  UNI  TA  RlA  N ISM. 


subscribe,  and  a  dictation  to  which  it  would  not 
submit.  The  evils  of  ecclesiastical  positiveness  and 
tyranny  have  so  marked  themselves  upon  the  church 
that  every  thing  which  reminded  of  them  became 
odious.  Liberal  religion  had  to  employ  its  energy 
for  a  long  time  in  that  direction  mainly,  and  seemed 
to  take  the  attitude  rather  of  vindicating  its  free¬ 
dom  and  protesting  against  what  was  false,  than  of 
insisting  on  what  was  vitally  true.  Hence  occasion 
has  been  taken  to  say  that  we  cannot,  consistently  with 
our  own  principles,  draw  any  lines  of  demarkation. 
All  this  is  indiscreetly  spoken,  whether  by  those 
who  are  without  our  body  or  those  who  are  within 
it.  .  .  .  But  why  so  ?  By  rejecting  the  precepts 

of  our  neighbors  we  do  not  resign  all  precepts  for 
ourselves.  ...  If  any  complain  of  restraints  on 
religious  liberty,  it  will  be  well  for  them  to  remem¬ 
ber  that  there  are  religious  obligations  also.  This 
liberty  is  in  no  danger  where  we  are,  though  many 
swelling  vanities  are  uttered,  and  some  artifices 
are  practised,  under  that  pretence.  And  if  it  is 
really  so  great  a  good  let  us  have  a  portion  of  it  too, 
as  well  as  others.  Surely  there  is  a  liberty  of  en¬ 
closure,  as  well  as  of  spread.  We  may  claim  to  be 
by  ourselves  so  it  be  with  a  due  consideration  for 
those  who  differ  from  us.  There  is  no  harm  in  a 
simple  wall  of  separation,  and  we  neither  commit 
persecution  nor  inflict  martyrdom  if  we  make  it  high 
enough  to  be  seen  from  some  distance.  Men  may 
call  it  exclusiveness,  if  they  will.  But  every  one 


THE  DOGMATICAL  POSITION. 


41 


that  has  a  house  over  his  head  is  in  a  sense  exclusive. 
He  does  not  build  that  he  may  live  out-of-doors, 
nor  could  he  well  call  it  a  house  if  it  took  in  all  that 
is  abroad. 

“  Let  us  have  a  belief,  therefore.  How  can  we 
otherwise  have  any  portion  in  the  believer’s  rest  or 
hope  ?  Let  us  have  a  creed  also.  For  how  else  can 
we  tell  or  know  what  we  believe  ?  Only  let  it  be 
held  with  humility,  and  seriousness,  and  charity. 
We  need  not  ask  too  curiously  how  much  there 
is  of  it,  nor  of  what  precise  kind  it  is.  We  will  not 
ask  this  of  others  at  all,  for  it  is  their  concern  and 
not  ours.  But  if  their  doctrine  jostle  or  attack  us, 
it  may  impose  upon  us  an  obligation  to  keep  it 
aloof  from  our  fellowship,  and  to  give  to  the  world 
a  reason  for  the  different  faith  that  we  are  attached 
to.  .  .  .  One  thing  at  least  is  as  clear  as  the  light, 
that  the  Gospel  can  be  of  service  only  so  far  as  it  is 
accredited.  If  it  have  no  sanction  for  us,  it  has  no 
comforting  trust  for  us.” 

The  creed  itself  would  not  have  satisfied  a  severely 
critical  mind.  It  would  not  have  contented  Abelard, 
though  it  might  have  pleased  Emerson.  It  was 
rather  rhetorical  than  dialectical.  It  would  hardly 
have  inspired  St.  Francis  d ’Assisi  or  Martin  Luther. 
It  was  not  calculated  to  form  heroic  virtues, — cour¬ 
age,  boldness,  fortitude,  consecration,  self-surrender, 
sacrifice,  passionate  enthusiasm,  devotion  to  a  cause 
deemed  righteous,  but  it  was  relied  on  to  foster 
the  gentler  qualities  of  trust,  hope,  patience,  grati- 


42 


BOSTON  UNITARIANISM. 


tude,  submission,  the  love  that  casts  out  fear.  As  I 
said,  the  building  up  of  personal  character  in  cour¬ 
tesy,  generosity,  diligence,  was  the  object,  not  the 
formation  of  correct  opinions.  “  The  rule  over  our 
own  growth  in  temperance,  sweetness,  patience,  can¬ 
not  well  be  dispensed  with.” 

In  presenting  the  scheme  of  belief,  I  certainly  do 
not  defend  it  or  its  aims.  It  is  my  opinion  that  both 
are  inadequate  to  explain  the  facts.  My  wish  is 
simply  to  make  it  clear,  and  so  do  it  justice.  This 
summary,  it  may  be  added,  is  taken  from  a  printed 
sermon,  entitled  “  The  Believer’s  Best,”  preached  in 
1843,  and  privately  circulated. 

“  And  first,  we  believe  in  a  paternal  Sovereign  of 
the  world  and  of  man.  A  Father  as  well  as  a  King 
is  upon  the  throne  of  the  universe.  Not  by  a  blind 
chance,  not  by  a  stern  fate,  not  by  an  arbitrary  rule, 
is  the  destiny  of  things  decreed,  but  by  an  unseen 
intelligence  and  a  primeval  love.  Do  you  want  any 
different  doctrine  as  respects  this  inexpressible  Be¬ 
ing?  Or  do  you  think  that  you  would  gain  any 
thing  in  clearness  or  justness  of  apprehension,  or  in 
piety  of  heart,  by  listening  to  metaphysical  subtle¬ 
ties  concerning  His  essence,  or  presumptuous  famili¬ 
arities  about  His  counsels,  or  circumscriptions  of  His 
immeasurable  attributes  ?  Above  all,  do  you  think 
that  you  would  gain  any  thing  in  that  true  rever¬ 
ence  which  awes,  but  does  not  perturb  the  soul ;  in 
that  true  love  which  raises  us  above  a  superstitious 
servility ;  in  that  true  quietness  which  belongs  to 


THE  DOGMATICAL  POSITION. 


43 


the  mind  that  is  stayed  upon  Him ;  by  clouding  the 
light  of  His  countenance  with  vulgar  terrors,  and 
divesting  Him  of  that  gracious  look  by  which  alone 
we  can  recognize  the  Father  of  Spirits? 

“  Again,  we  believe  in  His  Son  Jesus  Christ,  well- 
beloved,  and  the  manifestation  of  His  love  to  the 
world.  To  us,  ‘  There  is  but  one  God,  and  one 
Mediator  between  God  and  men,  the  man  Christ 
Jesus.’  So  the  apostle  declares,  and  we  cannot  con¬ 
ceive  of  language  being  framed  more  explicit  than 
this.  We  believe  in  Him  as  revealing  a  perfect 
duty  and  an  anchor  of  hope,  establishing  with  au¬ 
thority  the  truth  that  it  is  most  important  for  men  to 
receive,  and  breathing  the  full  spirit  by  which  the 
world  is  to  be  renovated,  dying  for  our  sins  accord¬ 
ing  to  the  Scriptures,  and  rising  again  the  third  day 
according  to  the  Scriptures.  We  believe  in  Him, 
the  divine  word  and  wisdom,  the  way  and  the  life. 
In  all  the  offices  that  He  bears  towards  our  poor 
mortality ;  in  the  grandeur  of  His  mission,  the  fruits 
of  His  sufferings,  the  victory  of  His  death ;  in  the 
example  He  set,  in  the  laws  He  sanctified,  in  the 
immortal  promises  He  spread ;  we  steadily  preach 
Him  who  was  sent. 

“  W e  believe  in  the  Spirit  of  the  Lord,  breathing 
wherever  He  wills,  like  the  vital  air  that  nourishes 
the  creation  ;  informing,  comforting,  vivifying  ;  plead¬ 
ing  with  the  conscience,  purifying  the  affections  ; 
changing  the  carnal  heart.  We  are  no  materialists; 
we  do  not  profess  to  solve  all  mysteries  with  our 


44 


BOSTON  UNI TA RIA N ISM. 


logic.  We  do  not  presume  to  reject  any  word  from 
on  high,  because  it  is  mysterious.  We  do  not  think 
to  confine  within  what  some  are  fond  of  appealing  to 
as  ‘  natural  laws,’  the  agency  and  grace  of  God.  We 
hold  to  a  faith  transcending  sight  and  absolute 
knowledge.  We  depend  upon  the  spirit  of  a  heav¬ 
enly  instruction  and  benediction.  Can  you  approach 
any  nearer  to  it  by  calling  it  a  person  instead  of  an 
influence  ?  or  by  engaging  in  any  technical  refine¬ 
ments  as  to  the  modes  of  its  operation  ? 

“We  believe  in  the  Scriptures,  as  a  holy  testi¬ 
mony  ;  a  record  of  the  Divine  dispensations  for  the 
education  and  redemption  of  the  human  race ;  the 
great  rule  of  faith  and  practice.  We  reverence  their 
precepts,  their  narratives,  their  various  utterances  of 
knowledge  and  praise,  and  we  do  not  revere  them 
the  less  for  reading  them  by  the  light  of  our  own 
understandings  and  the  aids  of  studious  men,  and 
interpreting  them  as  our  best  judgment  directs.  We 
do  not  pretend  to  set  forth  any  other  gospel,  or 
to  look  for  any  other  deliverer,  than  the  one  there 
revealed.” 

In  regard  to  human  nature,  a  subject  which  was, 
at  that  time,  agitating  the  Unitarian  mind,  the  same 
authority  enunciates  the  following  : 

“  The  present  era  seems  to  be  that  of  the  apothe¬ 
osis  of  human  nature.  Human  nature  is  exalted 
into  the  4  heavenly  places  ’  to  acknowledge  nothing 
above  its  own  height.  Man,  who  started  into  his 
first  deviation  from  the  truth  by  the  worship  of  the 


THE  DOGMA  T1CAL  POSITION . 


45 


surrounding  universe,  appears  approaching,  as  his 
last  delusion,  to  the  worship  of  himself.  Ah,  poor 
worm!  .  .  .  Does  he  go  almost  as  far,  with  his 
spiritual  fancies,  to  cloud  over  the  idea  of  1  the  God 
and  Father  of  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ,’  as  the  materi¬ 
alist  with  his  doctrine  that  grovels  the  lowest  ?  If 
he  does,  how  much  has  he  gained  by  casting  down 
the  graceful  image  that  at  least  represented  some¬ 
thing  divine,  though  it  might  have  been  modelled  but 
out  of  clay  ?  .  .  .  Give  me  back  the  simple  form  of  a 
child’s  credulity,  rather  than  mislead  me  into  any 
philosophical  refinement,  that  instructs  me  to  pre¬ 
sume,  and  leaves  me  to  perish.” 

This  is  like  Wordsworth’s  sentiment : 

*  ‘  Great  God  !  I  ’d  rather  be 
A  Pagan  suckled  in  a  creed  outworn  ; 

So  might  I,  standing  on  this  pleasant  lea, 

Have  glimpses  that  would  make  me  less  forlorn  ; 

Have  sight  of  Proteus  rising  from  the  sea, 

Or  hear  old  Triton  blow  his  wreathed  horn.” 

The  same  sentiment  but  not  the  same  idea.  Here 
was  no  thought  of  returning  to  paganism,  or  of 
going  outside  of  doctrinal  Christianity.  Expressions 
of  this  are  frequent.  Here  is  one.  In  the  introduc¬ 
tion  to  a  translation  of  the  first  of  the  Elegies  of 
Propertius,  a  writer  in  the  Augustan  Age  of  Roman 
poetry,  Mr.  Frothingham  says  : 

“  The  last,  which  is,  indeed,  the  leading,  reason  ” 
[for  presenting  the  version]  “  is  the  opportunity  that 
it  gives  of  comparing  some  of  the  purest  sentiments 
of  classical  antiquity  respecting  the  state  of  the  dead, 


4<5 


BOSTON  UNIT ARIA N ISM. 


with  those  of  the  simplest  minds  that  have  the 
advantage  of  Christian  education.” 

There  was  not  then,  as  there  is  now,  a  disposition 
to  construe  favorably  the  language  of  the  older  reli¬ 
gions.  There  might  have  been  as  much  real  knowl¬ 
edge,  but  it  was  still  the  fashion  to  look  askance  at 
other  systems  of  faith — to  call  Mahomet  an  impostor, 
for  instance — and  to  treat  their  nobler  sentiments  as 
shadowy,  mere  surmises,  and  of  the  line  minds  too, 
vague  hopes  at  the  best,  bright  anticipations  of 
certain  illumined  intelligences.  As  we  know,  the 
will  to  see  often  makes  sight,  and  the  will  to  see  had 
not  come  to  those  men  ;  The  Dial ,  organ  of  the  most 
advanced  speculation,  just  venturing,  in  a  tentative 
way,  in  its  extracts  from  “  ethnic  scriptures,”  to 
depart  from  the  accepted  tradition.  This  example 
was  not  calculated  to  encourage  these  Unitarians  to 
leave  the  beaten  track.  The  Transcendentalists  were 
their  aversion.  In  natural  religion  they  placed  no 
confidence.  It  gave  adumbrations,  hopes,  impres¬ 
sions,  but  no  satisfactory  evidence.  “  There  is  a 
conviction  of  right  and  wrong  in  the  breast,  but  it 
has  no  tongue.  Not  the  slightest  whispers  go  round 
among  the  crowded  thoughts  of  the  heart.  .  .  .  All 
that  we  receive  from  these  sources  is  the  inference 
which  we  ourselves  draw  from  what  we  see  and  ex¬ 
perience.  We  know  how  dubious  this  will  often  be. 
But  the  revealed  Gospel  exhibits  clear  objects  to  our 
faith  and  affections.  It  speaks  out,  and  its  speech  i& 
with  authority.” 


THE  DOGMA  TICAL  POSITION . 


47 


The  dependence  was  on  miracle.  “  Is  there  one 
here,”  said  Mr.  Frothingham,  in  a  sermon  on  the 
“  Manifestation  of  Christ,”  “  who  thinks  he  requires 
no  miraculous  evidence  in  support  of  his  religious 
convictions,  who  feels  satisfied  with  the  proofs  that 
the  unaided  mind  can  furnish  for  itself  ?  I  will  not 
assail  him,  I  will  not  charge  him  with  throwing 
away  all  faith,  because  he  is  willing  to  receive  it  on 
slighter  grounds  than  we  trust  it  is  built  on.  I  will 
congratulate  him  that  he  feels  his  hope  to  be  so  sure. 
.  .  .  But  let  us  profess  for  ourselves,  that  we  needed 
something  more  and  have  found  it.  We  will  own 
that  we  love  to  trace  our  faith  further  than  to 
the  self-taught  dictates  of  a  refined  intellect  and  an 
elevated  heart ;  even  to  the  Fountain  of  Inspiration.” 

The  ecclesiastical  relations  were  very  simple  in¬ 
deed.  Under  Congregationalism  each  church  was  a 
law  to  itself  in  forms  of  administration.  It  might 
even,  in  case  there  was  no  regular  minister,  choose  a 
man  from  among  its  church  members  to  serve  as 
“  teacher.”  Of  course  such  a  person  was  not  recog¬ 
nized  as  a  preacher  by  any  other  society.  There  was 
fellowship  among  the  congregations, — communion, 
comity,  consociation,  sympathy,  but  no  absolute  alle¬ 
giance.  Councils  might  advise,  recommend,  lend  their 
practical  wisdom,  but  they  could  not  dictate.  They 
had  no  authority.  There  was  no  constraining  organ¬ 
ization  as  there  was  among  Episcopalians  or  Presby¬ 
terians.  The  right  of  each  congregation  over  its  own 
individual  members  was  disputed,  as  appears  from 


48 


BOSTON  UNIT  A  RI A  N ISM. 


tlie  withdrawal  that  originated  the  3d  of  October.1 
In  1811  there  were  twenty-two  places  of  public 
worship  in  the  town.  In  my  youth  there  was  only 
one  Roman  Catholic  Church  in  Boston,  the  Cathe¬ 
dral  of  the  Holy  Cross,  on  Franklin  Street,  and  there 
were  not  more  than  two  priests  there.  Romanism 
had  no  hold  on  the  influential  people.  It  was  not 
even  dreaded,  as  is  evidenced  by  the  fact  that  leading 
Protestants  were  the  first  and  largest  givers  to  the  faith 
whose  spread  they  could  not  anticipate.  Episcopacy 
was  fashionable,  but  feeble.  When  my  father  was  or¬ 
dained,  in  1815,  there  were  but  two  establishments 
in  the  city — Christ  Church  and  Trinity, — at  opposite 
ends  of  the  town ;  the  one  by  Copp’s  Hill,  the  other 
in  Summer  Street.  King’s  Chapel  was  Unitarian. 
St.  Paul’s  parish  was  formed,  chiefly  from  Trinity, 
in  1819.  Traditions  of  Congregationalism  were  not 
only  supreme  but  were  taken  to  be  everlastingly 
rooted  in  the  genius  of  New  England.  The  original 
Puritan  commonwealth,  simply  adjusted  to  modern 
conditions, — retained,  but  shaded  off, — was  quietly 
accepted,  and  such  departures  as  “  independent  ” 
churches — churches  independent  of  all  denomina¬ 
tional  conventions,  as  well  as  of  doctrinal  pre-suppo¬ 
sitions — were  unheard  of.  The  ancient  principle  of 
building  up  individual  character  on  the  Gospel  basis 
was  persisted  in,  and  the  method  was  that  of  indus¬ 
triously  preaching  the  “  Word.” 

It  must  be  confessed  that  there  was  not  much 

1  See  H.  A.  Hill’s  “  History  of  the  Old  South,”  vol.  L.,  175,  332,  365. 


THE  DOGMATICAL  POSITION. 


49 


moral  earnestness ,  as  tliat  term  is  usually  appre¬ 
hended,  among  these  men.  There  was  no  “  enthusi¬ 
asm  of  humanity.”  This  was  hardly  heard  of  then. 
Humanity  was  to  be  regenerated  by  supernatural 
means,  not  believed  in  or  trusted.  The  arrangements 
of  the  world,  including  poverty,  misery,  crime,  op¬ 
pression,  wrong,  were  of  providential  appointment, 
and  were  to  be  abolished  by  the  slow  operation  of 
spiritual  influences  proceeding  from  personal  virtue. 
The  elect  of  the  churches  were  thus  the  centres  of 
power,  and  efforts  were  confined  to  the  effectual  use 
of  the  “  means  of  grace.”  This  may  help  to  explain 
the  circumstance  that  these  men,  so  humane,  so  com¬ 
passionate,  so  kindly,  so  conscientious,  so  tender¬ 
hearted,  so  generous,  were  no  more  interested  in  the 
organizations  against  slavery,  intemperance,  the  disa¬ 
bilities  of  working  men  and  women,  bad  legislation, 
evil  customs.  A  sense  of  turpitude  was  entirely 
consistent  with  an  apparent  apathy  which  was  born 
of  a  patient  waiting  on  Providence,  and  a  diligent 
employment  of  its  prescribed  remedies.  Even  Dr. 
Channing’s  society  refused  to  open  the  meeting¬ 
house  for  a  eulogy  on  Dr.  Follen,  to  be  delivered  by 
his  friend  S.  J.  May,  the  Abolitionist ;  and  it  has 
been  asserted  on  authority  that  his  congregation 
deserted  him  in  the  later  years  of  his  life  on  account 
of  his  anti-slavery  views.1  Dr.  Channing  himself 
sadly  oAvned  that  the  Unitarians,  as  a  sect,  were 

1  See  “  Diary  of  J.  Q.  Adams,”  and  also  the  Unitarian  Review  for  August, 
1881,  p.  151. 

4 


50 


BOSTON  UNIT  A  RIA  NISM. 


indifferent  to  the  question  of  slavery,  and  when  his 
meeting-house  was  refused  to  the  eulogist  of  Charles 
Follen,  doubted  the  efficiency  of  his  ministry,  and 
was  disposed  to  think  that  he  had  poured  out  his 
soul  in  vain,  if  this  was  the  result  of  his  endeavors. 
JSTo,  the  society  did  not  go  with  him  in  any  of  his 
projects  of  reform.  This  may  have  been  owing  to 
“  conservatism  ” ;  or  to  a  sense  of  social  superiority, 
an  unwillingness  to  mingle  with  ordinary  men  and 
women  ;  or  to  indifference  to  the  subject ;  or  to  a  want 
of  human  feeling ;  or  to  timidity,  as  it  required  some 
courage  to  befriend  an  unpopular  cause.  But  it 
might  have  been  due,  in  part  at  all  events,  to  a  con¬ 
viction  that  kindness,  charity,  good-will  were  per¬ 
sonal  qualities  entirely ;  that  gentleness,  sweetness, 
peacefulness,  serenity  were  most  desirable  Christian 
virtues ;  that  the  office  of  the  minister  of  religion 
was  to  create  these  graces  of  the  private  heart  and 
to  avoid  matters  that  would  raise  up  discord.  This 
j)ersuasion  was  certainly  very  strong,  so  strong  that 
a  leading  Unitarian  minister,  an  eminent,  distin¬ 
guished,  and  authoritative  man,  whose  name  carried 
universal  influence, — I  am  speaking  of  James  Walker, 
— would  not,  it  was  said,  vote ,  lest  he  should  be 
associated  in  the  public  mind  with  political  opinions. 
He  was  a  clergyman,  and  as  such  pledged  to  the 
single  duty  of  educating  people  in  character.  As  an 
illustration  of  this  sentiment  I  may  cite  the  words  of 
another  well-known,  able,  most  excellent  minister  in 
the  neighborhood  of  Boston.  Speaking  of  the  Abo- 


THE  DOGMA  TICAL  POSITION . 


51 


litionists  he  said :  “  These  men  have  brutalized  the 
spirit  of  the  community.”  Brutalized  the  spirit, — 
the  spirit  of  peacefulness,  of  urbanity,  of  quietude, 
of  pious  acquiescence.  This  man  was  a  gentleman 
of  the  old-fashioned  Christian  stamp,  courteous, 
kind,  a  genuine  lover  of  souls,  good  to  the  poor, 
generous,  an  example  of  the  best  preaching  of  the 
day ;  his  sole  deficiency  being  a  want  of  that  “  en¬ 
thusiasm  of  humanity  ”  which  is  characteristic  of  the 
present  generation.  If  we  could  have  followed  Dr. 
Channing’s  parishioners  to  their  homes,  we  should 
probably  have  found  them  amiable  in  every  domestic 
virtue,  pure,  temperate,  humble,  charitable  in  judg¬ 
ment,  generous  in  alms-giving,  benevolent  and  be¬ 
neficent  to  their  dependants,  living  under  a  strict 
allegiance  to  the  “  great  task-master.”  There  was  a 
perception  and  a  vivid  one,  though  not  a  controlling 
one,  of  the  iniquity  of  war  and  slavery,  but  the  faith 
was  that  these  evils  must  disappear  in  time  before 
the  spread  of  Christian  charity.  The  following 
passage  from  a  sermon  preached  in  1828  by  F.  W. 
P.  Greenwood,  makes  both  of  these  points  clear : 

Let  it  not  be  said  that  there  is  no  express  precept  in  the 
Christian  code  against  slavery  or  against  war.  There  is  more 
than  an  express  precept  against  them  ;  there  is  its  whole  spirit 
and  purpose,  its  whole  temper  and  influence.  Show  me  a  man 
who,  in  the  spirit  of  Christianity  and  with  the  authority  of  its 
founder,  can  drag  an  unoffending  fellow-creature  from  his 
country  and  kindred  and  make  him  his  slave  ;  or  a  man  who, 
in  the  spirit  of  Christianity  and  with  the  authority  of  its 
founder,  can  march  humbly,  meekly,  and  forgivingly  to  seek 


BOSTON  UNITARIAN  ISM. 


52 

the  life  of  his  brother  man  in  red  battle,  and  I  will  grant  that 
in  these  particulars  I  have  overrated  the  influence  of  my  religion, 
and  that  we  must  go  to  philosophy  and  reason  alone  for  argu¬ 
ments  and  principles  on  the  subjects  of  slavery  and  war. 

It  is  understood  that  all  these  men  were  conser¬ 
vatives  ;  but  they  were  not  conservative  in  the 
sense  of  wishing  that  the  world  would  stop  where 
it  was,  or  that  what  existed  was  good  enough. 
They  believed  in  conscience ;  but  it  was  their 
conviction  that  institutions  embodied  the  moral 
sense  of  the  race  thus  far,  and  that  any  further 
progress  must  be  made  gradually  by  the  increase 
and  spread  of  just  ideas,  not  by  sudden  or  violent 
convulsion.  And  if  they  had  more  regard  for  the 
actually  organized  moral  sense  than  they  had  for  its 
ideal  possibilities  in  individual  breasts,  they  are  not 
to  be  accused  of  indifference  to  social  advance  ;  or  if 
they  made  too  little  allowance  for  the  power  of 
heredity,  education,  surroundings,  and  were  there¬ 
fore  disposed  to  be  austere  in  judgment,  it  should 
not  be  forgotten  that  the  science  of  sociology  had 
not  been  discovered ;  or  if,  again,  they  found  hu¬ 
manity  so  mixed  up  with  other  less  reputable  pas¬ 
sions,  like  arrogance,  self-assertion,  conceit,  as  to 
be  inseparable  from  them,  it  must  be  remembered 
that  they  had  great  fear  of  these  low  motives  and 
aimed  to  repress  them.  On  this  point,  again,  Mr. 
Frothingham  must  be  the  spokesman  of  his  order. 
Meeting  a  friend  one  morning  in  Leverett  Street, 
near  the  prison,  on  the  day  fixed  for  the  execution  of 


THE  DOGMATICAL  POSITION. 


53 


a  murderer,  lie  expressed  more  gratification  that  the 
law  was  to  be  vindicated,  and  the  safety  of  good 
citizens  secured,  than  pity  for  the  criminal ;  and 
when  a  noted  philanthropist,  called  “  The  Prisoner’s 
Friend,”  asked  his  attention  to  his  chosen  charity,  he 
replied,  taking  out  his  pocket-book,  “  I  will  give  you 
something,  for  evidently  you  need  it,  but  I  have  no 
faith  in  your  cause  ;  my  preference  is  for  people  who 
don’t  get  into  jail.”  In  a  sermon  entitled  “  The 
Ruffian  Released,”  preached  in  1836,  he  said : 

“  I  am  at  a  loss  to  account  for  it, — I  scarcely  know 
on  what  principle  of  human  nature  it  is  to  be  ex¬ 
plained, — this  sympathy  of  well-meaning  persons 
with  those  who  have  outraged  every  feeling  of 
humanity  by  their  savage  force  or  their  cold-hearted 
depravity.  I  can  understand  how  the  Jewish  popu¬ 
lace  in  an  excited  hour  should  demand  the  liberation 
of  Barabbas  ;  I  can  almost  enter  into  the  feelings  of 
those  who,  in  a  season  of  great  depression,  should 
empty  every  convict’s  cell,  saying,  let  us  supplicate 
the  holy  and  frowning  heavens  together,  for  we  are 
all  transgressors  alike.  But,  in  a  state  of  society 
like  our  own,  with  institutions  so  free  from  abuse  and 
so  full  of  mercifulness,  it  is  hard  to  comprehend  why 
there  should  be  such  a  feverish  sensibility  in  favor 
of  the  abandoned,  and  so  intense  a  wish  for  some¬ 
thing  better  than  the  laws.”  Then  follows  a  serious 
attempt  to  get  at  the  secret  of  this  kind  of  compas¬ 
sion,  an  attempt  that  is  really  touching  in  its  earnest¬ 
ness  and  simplicity. 


54 


BOS  TON  UNI TA RIA N ISM. 


It  would  be  a  mistake  to  suppose  that  these  men 
expected  any  supernatural  interposition  in  behalf  of 
equity  or  good-will ;  any  “  legion  of  angels,”  any 
coming  of  the  Christ  in  clouds  or  in  glory  ;  that  they 
were  luxurious  idlers,  lying  supinely  on  their  oars. 
They  worked  ;  they  worked  hard.  Their  sermons 
were  written  with  pains  ;  their  prayers  were  earnest ; 
their  visits  of  exhortation  and  condolence  were  con¬ 
stant  and  faithful ;  they  practised  self-denial  every 
day  ;  they  felt  meekly  and  continually  the  responsi¬ 
bilities  of  their  calling  as  servants  of  religion.  It 
was  their  deliberately  adopted  theory  that  the 
Church  was  of  divine  appointment ;  that  all  heav¬ 
enly  power  was  conveyed  by  it ;  that  moral  influence 
was  imparted  through  its  forms  of  doctrine  and  of 
rite ;  and,  accepting  their  place  in  its  administration, 
they,  as  Unitarian  Christians,  were  answerable  for 
their  fidelity.  They  considered  themselves  as  set 
for  the  defence  of  the  Gospel,  as  they  understood  it, 
and  were  bound  in  honor  to  transmit  it  unimpaired. 
That  there  was  an  absence  of  the  democratic  temper 
is  freely  allowed,  is  claimed  even.  That  temper,  if 
manifest  at  all,  which  may  be  questioned,  presented 
itself  fully  and  in  unattractive  guise  as  revolution¬ 
ary,  disturbing,  quarrelsome.  Peace  was  essential  to 
their  philosophy.  Their  whole  theory  of  life  and 
influence  and  progress  demanded  conservatism.  The 
stream  might  be  rapid,  but  must  be  noiseless,  in  its 
flow.  The  Son  of  Man  does  not  strive  or  cry,  nor 
lift  up  his  voice  in  the  streets.  I  have  a  distinct 


THE  DOGMATICAL  POSITION . 


55 


recollection  of  Dr.  Frothingham’s  discontent  with 
the  philosophy  of  “  Les  Miserables,”  Victor  Hugo’s 
famous  novel,  then  just  published.  It  seemed  to 
imply  that  a  change  of  outward  conditions  would 
effect  a  change  of  character ;  that  the  social  arrange¬ 
ment  was  radically  wrong ;  that  the  “  paralysis  of 
the  person  ”  was  contingent  on  “  the  narrowness  of 
the  lot.”  And  this  ran  counter  to  all  his  beliefs, — 
was,  in  truth,  the  exact  reversal  of  them. 

This  was  the  real  objection  to  Theodore  Parker, 
that  he  made  war  against  the  tradition  and  pried  up 
the  foundations  of  authority  as  the  Church  had  laid 
them, — the  Church  of  Socinus  as  well  as  the  Church 
of  Calvin  or  Leo.  If  Parker  could  simply  have 
shifted  the  basis  of  authority  from  the  Bible  to 
the  Soul,  without  disturbing  the  traditions  of  faith, 
there  might  have  been  no  contest  in  spite  of  his 
biting  sarcasms.  But  he  discredited  all  the  external 
proofs  of  revelation. 

It  was  a  great  deal  simpler  for  the  Unitarians  to 
accept  the  “  sensational  philosophy,”  as  it  was  called. 
They  had  been  brought  up  in  it.  It  was  established, 
the  doctrine  of  the  best  teachers  and  the  highest 
eminence.  It  lent  itself  most  readily  to  their  con¬ 
ceptions  of  religion,  to  their  ideas  of  God  and  his 
relations  to  the  world.  And  it  was  supported  by 
the  ablest  writers  of  the  time  in  their  own  com¬ 
munion.  The  great  name  of  Andrews  Norton,  that 
competent  and  conscientious  and  fearless  scholar, 
was  on  their  side.  In  his  discourse  on  “  The  Latest 
Form  of  Infidelity,”  he  said  : 


k 


56 


BOSTON  UNIT  A  RIA  NISM. 


Of  the  facts  on  which  religion  is  founded  we  can  pretend  to 
no  assurance,  except  that  derived  from  the  testimony  of  God, 
from  the  Christian  revelation.  He  who  has  received  this 
testimony  is  a  Christian  ;  and  we  may  ask  now,  as  was  asked 
by  an  apostle :  “  Who  is  he  that  overcometh  the  world,  but  he 
that  believes  that  Jesus  is  the  Son  of  God  ?  ” 

James  Martineau,  too,  in  the  “  Rationale  of  Reli¬ 
gious  Enquiry,”  the  third  edition  of  which  was 
published  in  1845,  expressed  himself  in  the  same 
strain : 

Nor  is  there  any  intelligible  sense  in  which  one  who  thinks 
that  the  preternatural  may  be  banished  from  the  birth  and 
infancy  of  our  faith,  can  continue  to  take  the  name  of  Chris¬ 
tian.  .  .  .  They  are  exposed  to  just  animadversion,  for 
having  professed,  by  convulsive  efforts  of  interpretation,  to 
compress  the  memories  of  Christ  and  his  Apostles  into  the 
dimensions  of  ordinary  life,  rather  than  admit  the  operation  of 
miracle  on  the  one  hand,  or  aver  their  abandonment  of  Chris¬ 
tianity  on  the  other.  (P.  72.) 

I 

Again  : 

Revealed  religion  comprises  the  ideas  of  God  derived  from 
the  Bible,  considered  as  the  record  of  a  Supernatural  Provi¬ 
dence.  It  is  the  name  for  the  notions  and  feelings  suggested 
by  a  line  of  Hebrew  history,  from  the  patriarchal  age  to  the 
death  of  the  last  Apostle.  (P.  77.) 

This  is  an  exact  statement  of  the  position  I  am 
attempting  to  portray,  as  a  chronicler  of  the  period. 
The  Intuitive  Philosophy,  as  it  was  called,  resting 
the  origin  of  religious  ideas  on  the  native  beliefs  of 
the  human  reason,  necessarily  made  light  of  outward 
evidences, — prophecy,  miracle,  authenticity  of  the 


THE  DOGMA  TICAL  POSITION. 


57 


Scriptures,  narrative,  mission,  and  saying  of  Jesus. 
When  fairly  apprehended,  as  by  Emerson,  for  in¬ 
stance,  these  simply  disappeared  as  silently  as  the 
bark  fell  away  from  a  growing  tree.  Sometimes 
they  were  set  aside,  as  by  George  Ripley,  who  chose 
another,  more  secular,  calling.  But  in  Parker’s  case 
there  was  the  loud  report  of  protest,  coupled  with 
the  sting  of  an  exasperating  verbal  logic.  He  was 
constitutionally  unable  to  appreciate  the  traditional 
point  of  view.  He  was  literal,  direct,  simple.  There 
was  no  interval  between  his  private  thought  and  his 
public  speech.  He  visited,  in  Tubingen,  Dr.  F.  C. 
Baur,  the  founder  of  the  famous  school,  the  man 
who  wrote  the  terrible  articles  in  the  Jahrbucher , 
aiming  to  show  that  the  New  Testament  writings 
were  not  historical  but  doctrinal  compositions,  hav¬ 
ing  a  controversial  tendency,  and  was  surprised  to 
find  him  preaching  in  a  regular  Lutheran  pulpit. 
Baur,  on  his  part,  expressed  amazement  that  Parker 
should  proclaim  his  critical  opinions  on  religion.  They 
were  conclusions  of  the  study ;  surmises  of  scholar¬ 
ship  ;  matters  of  literary  concern  ;  private  specula¬ 
tions,  not  suitable  for  edification ;  questions  for 
learning  to  decide,  not  for  faith  or  feeling.  But 
Parker  could  not  understand  this  distinction. 

He  found  fault  with  the  chairman  of  a  meeting  of 
the  Boston  Association  because  he,  a  doctor  of 
divinity,  and  a  public  teacher  of  Christianity,  did,  at 
the  same  time,  in  conversation  declare  that  Strauss, 
if  he  had  made  a  small,  popular  book,  must  have 


53 


BOSTON  UN  IT  A  RIANISM. 


about  put  an  end  to  historical  Christianity  ;  that  the 
conflicting  accounts  in  the  four  Gospels  could  not  be 
reconciled ;  that  one  might  have  the  moral  spirit  of 
Christianity  and  be  a  Christian  man,  while  discard¬ 
ing  the  Christian  beliefs ;  that  prophecies  might  be 
true  in  intention  though  indefensible  in  form.  Par¬ 
ker  thought  him  a  hypocrite,  a  time-server,  a  deceiver 
of  the  people,  an  empty  babbler,  dishonest  and  hol¬ 
low.  But  this  man  did  not  pin  his  faith  to  histori¬ 
cal,  only  to  instituted,  Christianity  ;  the  stories  in  the 
four  Gospels  might  be  reconciled  as  parables  though 
inconsistent  as  narratives  ;  one  might  be  a  Christian 
man,  at  least  for  a  time,  though  not  a  Christian  be¬ 
liever.  C.  A.  Bartol,  Parker’s  classmate,  one  who 
knew  him  well  and  loved  him,  in  a  sermon,  preached 
after  his  death,  touched  this  point  nicely  when  he 
said : 

In  all  sincerity  he  chose  his  career,  but  he  had  not  faculty 
to  penetrate  the  purpose  or  appraise  the  contents  of  a  religious 
tradition.  He  understood  not,  in  its  Christian  application,  the 
solidarity  of  a  common  sentiment  or  the  continuous  and  indis¬ 
soluble  unity  of  the  human  soul.  He  could  do  nothing  with 
enduring  institutions  and  operative  principles  in  the  life  of 
mankind  but  analyze  them  and  reduce  them  to  ashes  in  the 
crucible  of  a  speculative  brain.  He  had  no  imagination,  sim¬ 
ple  reverence,  and  holy  wonder  to  admit  marvels  at  which,  on 
the  road  of  investigation,  the  scientific  understanding  balks, 
but  which  are  welcome  to  the  higher  reason  in  every  artist  and 
true  spiritualist,  to  poet  and  painter  and  genius  of  all  sorts, 
treading  on  the  mysterious  border,  none  ever  measured,  of  the 
unseen  world. 

I  must  affirm  the  position  a  false  one ;  however  the  man 
was  true. 


THE  DOGMA  TICAL  POSITION . 


59' 


It  is  needless  to  say  that  this  implies  an  intellec¬ 
tual  limitation  merely,  and  that  in  a  single  direction 
only.  Mr.  Parker’s  other  mental  qualities  were  as 
remarkable  as  his  moral  qualities  were,  and  they 
must  have  been  extraordinary  indeed  to  have  ex¬ 
torted  as  they  did  such  warm  expressions  of  regard 
and  affection  from  his  adversaries.  Even  the  provo¬ 
cations  of  his  manner  could  not  alienate  his  oppo¬ 
nents.  The  sharpest  criticism  ended  in  words  of 
personal  love. 

It  was  probably  this  dread  of  a  disorganizing  ten¬ 
dency  that  alienated  the  first  minds  in  the  Unitarian 
body  from  transcendentalism,  even  when  it  was  repre¬ 
sented  by  so  persuasive  and  lofty  a  spirit  as  that  of 
Emerson.  Not  a  syllable  in  dispraise  of  him  was 
ever  uttered  in  my  hearing.  His  faith,  his  aspira¬ 
tion,  his  sweetness,  his  humility,  his  enthusiasm  of 
spirituality,  his  catholicity  of  sentiment,  his  sincere 
demand  that  others  should  be  true  to  themselves,  his 
utter  refusal  to  impose  his  individuality  upon  others, 
was  admitted ;  but  his  philosophy,  it  was  feared, 
encouraged  conceit,  pretension,  self-assertion,  and  led 
to  disintegration.  He  himself  knew  this,  felt  it,  and 
tried  to  correct  the  tendency.  His  appreciation  of 
mental  sincerity  was  absolute.  He  cordially  invited 
my  father  to  the  meeting  at  his  house  in  Concord 
which  resulted  in  the  “  Transcendental  Club,”  and 
the  offishness  of  the  latter,  who  distrusted  the  move¬ 
ment,  did  not  chill  his  regard,  as  the  following  entry 
in  his  “  Journal  ”  shows  : 


6o 


BOSTON  UNIT  A  RIA  NISM. 


August,  1857. 

I  had  a  letter  from  Dr.  Frothingham  to-day.  The  sight 
of  that  man’s  handwriting  is  Parnassian.  Nothing  vulgar  is 
connected  with  his  name,  but  on  the  contrary  every  remem¬ 
brance  of  wit  and  learning  and  contempt  of  cant.  In  our 
Olympic  games  we  love  his  fame.  But  that  fame  was  bought 
by  many  years  of  steady  rejection  of  all  that  is  popular  with 
our  society,  and  a  persevering  study  of  books  which  none  else 
reads,  and  which  he  can  convert  to  no  temporary  purpose. 
There  is  a  scholar  doing  a  scholar’s  office. 


About  the  same  time  Thomas  Carlyle  wrote  a 
letter  to  Mr.  Emerson  containing  tlie  following  pas¬ 
sage,  which  Mr.  Emerson  sent  to  my  father: 


By  the  bye,  speaking  of  dull  publics,  I  ought  to  say  that  I 
have  seen  a  Review  of  myself  in  the  Christian  Examiner  (I 
think  that  is  it,  of  Boston);  the  author  of  which,  if  you  know 
him,  I  desire  you  to  thank  on  my  part.  For  if  a  dull  million 
is  good,  then  withal  a  seeing  unit  or  two  is  also  good.  This 
man  images  forth  a  beautiful  idealized  clothes  philosopher, 
very  satisfactory  to  look  upon  ;  in  whose  beatified  features  I 
did  verily  detect  more  similitude  to  what  I  myself  meant  to  be 
than  in  any  or  all  the  other  criticisms  I  have  yet  seen  written 
of  me  ;  that  a  man  see  himself  reflected  from  the  soul  of  his 
brother  man  in  this  brotherly  improved  way  is  one  of  the  most 
legitimate  joys  of  existence. 


Reference  is  here  made  to  an  article  on  “  Sartor 
Resartus  ”  in  the  Christian  Examiner  for  September, 
1836,  by  N.  L.  Frothingham.  Both  tribute  and 
review  are  the  more  remarkable  that  Mr.  Frothing¬ 
ham  was  not  an  admirer  of  Mr.  Carlyle’s  later  ideas 
in  politics,  philosophy,  or  religion  ;  but  he  had  a  real 


THE  DOGMA  TICAL  POSITION. 


6l 


enthusiasm  for  eloquent  language,  and  a  love  of 
fresh,  wild,  independent  speculation ;  and  when  the 
purely  literary  taste  could  act  freely,  untrammelled 
by  dogmatic  considerations,  as  was  not  always  the 
case,  he  was  exceedingly  generous. 

In  order  to  make  the  ecclesiastical  position  per¬ 
fectly  intelligible,  it  is  necessary  to  say  something 
about  James  Freeman  Clarke’s  scheme  for  a  free 
society.  In  his  early  years  Mr.  Clarke  glorified  the 
West,  spoke  disrespectfully,  to  put  the  case  mildly, 
of  New  England  Unitarianism,  and  criticised  rather 
roughly  some  of  its  leading  men.  On  his  return 
from  Louisville  in  May,  1840,  a  return  to  the  East 
which  was  severely  commented  on  in  Boston,  he 
established  there,  in  1841,  the  “  Church  of  the  Disci¬ 
ples,”  an  organization  that  embodied  three  principles  : 
“  a  free  church ;  a  social  church ;  and  a  church  in 
which  the  members,  as  well  as  the  pastor,  should 
take  part.”  None  of  these  ideas  were  popular  in 
New  England,  in  fact  they  were  against  all  its  habits 
and  especially  repugnant  to  the  Unitarians  I  am 
concerned  with,  as  well  on  the  score  of  its  voluntary¬ 
ism  and  its  sociability  as  on  the  ground  of  its 
democracy.  It  is  not  surprising,  therefore,  that  the 
venture  should  be  looked  at  askance  ;  that  in  view  of 
his  encroachment  on  old-established  relations,  Mr. 
Clarke  should  be  charged  with  displaying  “  a  pirati¬ 
cal  flag  ”  ;  that,  coming  back  from  the  installation  in 
Freeman  Place  Chapel,  in  March,  1848,  my  father, 
one  of  the  aggrieved  ones,  should  have  remarked  that 


62 


BOSTON  UNITARIANISM. 


“  David’s  soul  did  not  rejoice  that  day.”  Mr.  Clarke’s 
devotion  to  intellectual  liberty,  as  evidenced  by  bis 
exchange  with  Theodore  Parker  in  1845,  as  a  devout, 
honest  Christian  man  who  was  entitled  to  fellowship, 
did  not  tend  to  increase  the  regard  in  his  favor,  not¬ 
withstanding  his  friendly  disposition,  his  warm¬ 
heartedness,  his  benevolence,  his  determination  to 
take  no  offence,  his  official  consecration  to  duty,  his 
orthodoxy  of  opinion,  his  allegiance  to  the  Christian 
creed.  The  smallest  concession  to  the  secular  spirit 
was  resented.  Christianity  was  not,  in  Unitarian 
view,  a  moral,  but  also  a  doctrinal  system,  and  any 
attempt  to  weaken  that,  as  Mr.  Clarke’s  plan  did,  as 
much  as  Mr.  Parker’s,  though  in  a  different  way,  was 
subversive  of  the  Church  as  an  institution  resting  on 
authority,  and  implying  the  imbecility  of  man. 
There  was  no  social  intimacy  in  Unitarian  churches, 
for  the  simple  reason  that  the  people  were  present 
as  recipients ,  not  as  bestowers  of  faith,  the  very 
“  church  members  ”  being  regarded  as  those  who 
aspired,  rather  than  as  those  who  had  attained.  The 
“  congregation  ”  was  simply  a  “  distant  fold,”  to  be 
cared  for  by  the  shepherd,  whose  “  drowsy  tinklings  ” 
often  “  lulled  ”  them,  but  who  had  better  sleep  than 
be  absent. 

It  should  be  borne  in  mind  that  the  social  feeling 
with  which  we  are  familiar,  which  prevails  in  our 
Unitarian  and  in  many  other  churches,  was  then  a 
complete  novelty.  There  was  no  social  intercourse 
between  members  of  the  same  religious  society. 


THE  DOGMATICAL  POSITION .  63 

There  were  no  parlors  or  kitchens  or  gathering 
rooms  in  church  buildings.  In  the  structure  on 
Chauncy  Place  the  Sunday-school  occupied  a  room 
in  the  cellar  where  hogsheads  of  tobacco  were  stored. 
The  preaching  of  the  “Word”  was  the  great  thing, 
and  this  was  for  adult  minds  that  had  no  other  con¬ 
cern  than  for  spiritual  matters.  As  for  the  remaining 
principles  of  Mr.  Clarke, — the  free  seats  instead  of 
owned  or  rented  pews,  and  the  participation  of  the 
laity  in  the  administration  of  religion, — they  never 
struck  root  into  the  soil  of  New  England.  Com¬ 
plaint  was  made  that  under  the  voluntary  system  the 
burden  of  expense  fell  on  the  few  ;  and  it  is  not  easy 
to  see  how  a  clerical  order  can  be  maintained  if 
laymen  are  expected  to  take  part  in  the  services 
of  the  Church.  It  is  but  fair  to  presume  that  these 
dangers  were  foreseen,  that  an  honest  desire  to  pre¬ 
serve  the  integrity  of  the  existing  state  of  things 
was,  in  the  main,  influential  in  deciding  the  action  of 
the  ministers.  Merely  personal  considerations  could 
not  have  controlled  them ;  for  no  characters  could 
have  been  more  engaging  than  those  of  Theodore 
Parker,  Ralph  Waldo  Emerson,  and  James  Freeman 
Clarke. 

In  a  brick  building  on  Berry  Street,  used  as  a 
vestry  by  the  Federal  Street  Church,  Dr.  Channing 
instituted,  in  the  spring  of  1820,  the  Berry  Street 
Conference  of  Ministers,  and  delivered  the  first  ad¬ 
dress  on  the  point,  “How  Far  is  Reason  to  be  Used 
in  Explaining  Revelation  ?  ”  In  this  essay,  which  ex- 


64 


BOSTON  UNIT  A  RIANISM. 


hibited  the  moral  issue  between  the  Liberals  and 
the  Orthodox,  he  affirmed  the  primitive  elements  of 
all  knowledge,  the  conception  of  goodness,  and  the 
conditions  of  truth.  This,  the  earliest  Unitarian 
organization,  is  still  extant,  and  is,  as  at  first,  an  oc¬ 
casion  for  considering  the  needs  and  prospects  of  the 
Unitarian  faith.  There  is  a  “Concio  ad  clerum,” 
followed  by  a  discussion  of  a  very  frank  description. 
The  meetings  were  quite  private ;  they  were  not 
advertised  ;  no  reporter  was  present ;  few,  almost 
none  beside  ministers  attended,  as  the  questions 
raised  were  not  supposed  to  interest  others.  It  was 
never  known  what  was  to  be  said;  consequently 
there  was  no  general  curiosity.  The  matters  pre¬ 
sented  concerned  the  denomination,  and  the  discus¬ 
sions  turned  on  subjects  of  religious  belief  and 
parochial  conduct.  The  introduction  of  the  slavery 
issue  by  John  Pierpont,  and,  later,  of  rationalistic 
criticism  by  Theodore  Parker,  interrupted  the  placid 
monotony  of  the  exercises ;  but  these  episodes  being 
ended,  the  same  quiet  flow  went  on,  the  steady 
progress  of  the  sect  in  “  Liberalism  ”  affording  suffi¬ 
cient  excitement  to  keep  minds  alert. 

The  American  Unitarian  Association  was  formed 
in  1825.  This,  too,  was  the  result  of  an  invitation 
sent  to  ministers  and  laymen  to  meet  in  Dr.  Chan- 
ning’s  vestry  for  the  purpose  of  conferring  together 
“  on  the  expediency  of  appointing  an  annual  meeting 
for  the  purpose  of  union,  sympathy,  and  co-operation 
in  the  cause  of  Christian  truth  and  Christian  charity.” 


THE  DOGMATICAL  POSITION. 


65 


Men  like  Henry  Ware,  Jr.,  James  Walker,  Samuel 
Barrett,  Lewis  Tappan,  and  Ezra  Stiles  Gannett  were 
on  the  executive  committee.  Tke  aim  was  not  secta¬ 
rian,  but  it  was  an  effort  to  render  tke  faitk  operative, 
a  “  desire  to  promote  tke  increase  of  religion  in  tke 
land.”  Tke  name  was  ckosen  to  avoid  equivocation 
on  tke  one  kand,  and  misapprekension  on  tke  other. 

Tke  Benevolent  Fraternity  of  Ckurckes  for  tke 
Support  of  tke  Ministry-at-Large  was  founded  in 
1834.  “The  sole  object  was  to  provide  instruction 
and  solace  for  souls,  not  to  add  another  to  tke 
eleemosynary  institutions  of  tke  city.”  Tkis  grew 
out  of  tke  devoted  and  successful  labors  of  Dr. 
Tuckerman,  Charles  Barnard,  and  Frederick  T. 
Gray.  Nine  parishes  entered  into  tke  scheme  of  ex¬ 
tending  and  placing  on  a  firm  foundation  their  work 
of  spiritual  benevolence.  Ministers  were  supported ; 
chapels  were  built,  and  an  immense  deal  of  good  was 
accomplished,  of  a  moral  and  religious,  but  also  of  an 
industrial  character.  At  present  nine  ckurckes  con¬ 
tribute  $7,362.64 — Arlington  Street  Church,  King’s 
Chapel,  Church  of  tke  Unity,  First  Church,  West 
Church,  Second  Church,  South  Congregational 
Church,  Morgan  Chapel,  First  Parish  of  Dorchester. 
There  is  no  assessment.  There  are  five  chapels, — 
Bulfinch  Street,  New  South,  Parmenter  Street,  Unity, 
Morgan.  The  several  funds  yield  $279,327.72. 
The  current  expenses  for  1888-9  were  $19,186.33. 
The  chapels  do  a  vast  amount  of  work  of  an  edu¬ 
cational  description.  They  are  centres  of  spiritual 
5 


66 


BOSTON  UNIT  A  RIANISM. 


power  of  a  large  kind.  And  this  was  one  only 
of  several  philanthropic  missions  of  similar  intent. 
The  Boston  Port  Society  was  incorporated  in  1829  ; 
the  Seaman’s  Aid  Society  was  formed  in  1832 ;  the 
Young  Men’s  Christian  Union  was  organized  in  1851 ; 
the  Society  for  the  Belief  of  Aged  and  Destitute 
Clergymen  was  established  in  1848.  These  all  had 
a  humane  motive,  and  bear  witness  to  the  effort  to 
raise  men  and  women  in  the  scale  of  rational  beings. 
The  working  of  these  institutions,  their  machinery, 
so  to  speak,  fell  into  the  hands  of  a  few  zealous, 
fervid  brethren,  who  were  interested  in  all  kinds  of 
moral  elevation,  and  had  faith  in  the  principle  of  the 
spiritual  power  latent  in  the  individual  will.  The 
result  justified  such  faith  when  it  assumed  an 
energetic  form.  The  leaders  acted  on  this  presump¬ 
tion  and  labored  with  much  assiduity  at  attempts  to 
put  their  theory  into  operation.  And  yet,  but  for  a 
few,  the  projects  would  have  got  no  footing.  Among 
those  who  served  actively  on  the  executive  com¬ 
mittees  of  the  reform  societies  mentioned,  I  do  not 
find  the  names  of  Parkman  or  Young  or  Lowell  or 
Frothingham  or  Greenwood,  though  they  all  sympa¬ 
thized  with  the  humane  objects  of  the  organizations, 
and  were  ready  to  help  them  forward  by  their  influ¬ 
ence  and  assistance.  The  truth  is  there  was  little  or 
no  denominational  feeling  in  these  men.  They  were 
Unitarians  indeed  in  as  far  as  they  rejected  the  cur¬ 
rent  interpretations  of  Scripture,  and  the  popular 
doctrine  of  the  creed,  but  they  did  not  sieze  upon 


THE  DOGMATICAL  POSITION. 


67 


the  essential  difference  in  idea  between  Liberalism 
and  Orthodoxy,  which  was  well  stated  by  Channing 
as  consisting  in  the  validity  of  natural  reason  and 
conscience.  In  a  sermon  preached  in  March,  1835, 
the  twentieth  anniversary  of  his  settlement  in  the 
First  Church,  my  father  said :  “  This  is  known  by 
the  name  of  the  Unitarian  controversy;  and  in  so 
naming  it  I  believe  that  I  am  giving  utterance,  for 
the  first  time  in  this  desk,  to  that  party  word.  This 
alone  is  saying  not  a  little  in  illustration  of  the  spirit 
with  which  the  offices  of  religion  have  been  here 
conducted.  .  .  .We  remained  almost  at  rest  in 
that  earthquake  of  schism.  ...  We  silently  as¬ 
sumed  the  ground,  or  rather  found  ourselves  stand¬ 
ing  upon  it,  that  there  was  no  warrant  in  the  Scrip¬ 
tures  for  the  idea  of  a  threefold  personality  in  the 
divine  nature ;  or  for  that  of  atonement,  according 
to  the  popular  understanding  of  that  word ;  or  for 
that  of  man’s  total  corruption  and  inability ;  or  for 
that  of  an  eternity  of  woe  adjudged  as  the  punish¬ 
ment  of  earthly  offences  ;  or  indeed  for  any  of  the 
peculiar  articles  in  that  scheme  of  faith  which  went 
under  the  name  of  the  Genevan  reformer.  ...  We 
have  made  more  account  of  the  religious  sentiment 
than  of  theological  opinions.”  Elsewhere  he  declares : 
a  We  have  a  doctrine  ;  though  we  are  not  anxious  to 
define  it  over-closely  nor  to  mark  the  deviation  from 
any  formulary  that  any  may  have  prescribed.  ...  We 
have  been  unwilling  to  take  part  in  enterprises  that 
have  found  unbounded  favor  with  a  large  number  of 


68 


BOSTON  UNIT  A  RI A  N ISM. 


our  friends  ” ;  an  evident  allusion  to  Unitarian  ac¬ 
tivities.  And  again,  in  the  address  to  the  Alumni  of 
Cambridge  Divinity  School,  July  12, 1844,  a  discourse 
devoted  to  the  maintenance  of  an  old-fashioned  policy, 
he  said  :  “  I  have  been  led  to  choose  that  (theme)  of 
the  posture  of  our  religious  times ;  if,  indeed,  that 
can  be  called  a  posture  which  is  never  in  repose  ” ; 
a  statement  that  betrays  a  conviction  of  the  steady, 
uniform  progress  of  religious  truth,  a  persuasion 
that  there  has  been  no  crisis  of  change,  the  introduc¬ 
tion  of  no  new  principle,  nothing  to  justify  a  depar¬ 
ture  from  the  ancient  ways,  in  the  direction  of  either 
truth  or  beneficence.  That  he  stood  alone  in  such  an 
attitude  is  not  to  be  supposed.  There  is  no  evidence 
that  many  did  not  sympathize  with  him ;  some,  wre 
know,  did ;  and  the  position  was  entirely  defensible 
on  the  ground  of  an  even  advance  of  human  reason 
and  the  sufficiency  of  the  wonted  method  of  Chris¬ 
tian  virtue  to  satisfy  every  reasonable  demand  of 
piety.  The  necessity  for  distinction  or  separation 
was  not  felt ;  and  so  long  as  it  was  not,  no  emphasis 
of  doctrine,  organization,  or  action  was  required.  In 
fact  division  was  to  be  deprecated,  and  all  attempts 
to  break  in  upon  the  established  order  were  to  be 
deplored  as  useless  and  harmful  innovation. 

This  account  of  Unitarianism  is  accepted  by  Dr. 
Lothrop,  who  writes  thus  in  his  “  Reminiscences  ” 
(page  202)  : 

From  the  time  of  Dr.  Freeman’s  settlement  at  King’s 
Chapel  and  the  secession  of  the  society  from  the  Episcopal 
Church — all  through  the  close  of  the  last  century  and  for  the 


THE  DOGMATICAL  POSITION . 


69 


first  forty  years  of  this — the  Unitarians  were  a  distinct  body, 
planting  themselves  upon  the  Scriptures  as  the  rule  and  basis 
of  faith,  claiming  to  differ  from  other  Christians,  not  on  the 
ground  of  reason  and  philosophy,  but  on  the  interpretation  of 
Scripture.  They  always  distinctly  acknowledge  the  authority  of 
Christ  as  a  divine  messenger  and  teacher  whose  words  were  the 
supreme  law  in  the  spiritual  world  of  religious  thought  and  life. 

He  says  that  Mr.  Parker  “  introduced  discord  into 
the  Unitarian  body.” 

Orville  Dewey  takes  a  broader  view.  In  an  article 
on  Unitarianism,  written  for  Johnson’s  Encyclopae¬ 
dia,  he  speaks  thus : 

In  short,  the  stand  taken  by  Unitarianism  is  for  nature,  for 
human  nature,  for  every  thing  that  God  has  made,  as  the  mani¬ 
festation  of  His  will  as  truly  as  any  thing  written  in  the  Bible. 

But  this  was  written  in  1877,  and  Dr.  Dewey  was  a 
forward-looking  man. 

The  breaking  up  of  the  old  theology  began  veiy 
soon  in  Massachusetts.  As  early  as  1697  Increase 
Mather  speaks  of  “  miserable  confusions  and  divi¬ 
sions”  not  only  in  Boston,  but  in  Watertown,  Cam¬ 
bridge,  and  Charlestown.  The  writer  had  attended 
a  council  of  four  churches  at  Watertown,  where  it 
was  intended  to  ordain  two  ministers,  but  because  of w 
dissensions  in  the  church  there  was  no  ordination 
the  “  like  not  known  in  New  England.”  (See  Doyle’s 
“  English  Colonies  in  America,”  vol.  iii.,  page  377.) 

Still,  it  must  be  said,  the  Unitarians,  laymen  and 
clergymen,  regarded  their  position  as  final.  They 
could  see  nothing  beyond  but  utter  disbelief.  Theirs 
was  the  honest  conviction  that  development  could 
go  no  further. 


V. 


LITERATURE  AND  RELIGION. 

It  is  not  at  all  surprising  that  these  gentlemen 
felt  secure  in  their  doctrinal  and  ecclesiastical  posi¬ 
tion.  The  opposition  was  not  strong.  Mr.  Emerson, 
by  far  the  most  important  dissident,  sang  his  own 
song,  and  cast  no  reflections  on  those  who  were  not 
in  unison  with  him.  Parker’s  assault  was  formid¬ 
able,  but  was  so  much  complicated  with  personal 
issues  as  to  add  to  the  confidence  of  his  adversaries 
rather  than  to  diminish  it.  The  new  philosophy 
seemed  visionary  and  far  off,  a  mist  in  the  air,  an 
almost  inaudible  note  in  a  symphony.  German 
criticism  had  not  affected  learned  opinion  to  any 
extent.  A  few  men  were  acquainted  with  Semler, 
Paulus,  Strauss,  De  Wette,  Posenmuller,  Eichhorn, 
Herder,  but  a  few  only.  German  rationalism  had 
a  bad  name.  Schleiermacher  was  a  “  veil-maker,” 
Strauss  a  “  man  of  straw,”  and  it  did  not  matter 
what  Matter  thought  about  gnosticism.  The  great 
scholar — Andrews  Norton — thorough,  careful,  exact, 
a  sceptic  in  the  true  sense  of  the  word — that  is,  a 
scrutinize^  one  who  would  take  nothing  on  trust 

70 


LITERATURE  AND  RELIGION. 


71 


but  would  see  things  for  himself  before  he  believed 
in  them — had  been  all  round  the  sheepfold  with 
hammer  and  hatchet,  had  tested  every  part,  and 
removed  the  unsound  portions,  and  was  prepared  to 
guarantee  the  security  of  each  board  and  bolt ;  so 
great  was  his  influence  that  some  even  fancied  that 
he  originated  Unitarianism,  which  was  a  mistake. 
But  he  was  a  high  authority.  There  was  at  that 
time  great  interest  in  the  evidence  of  Christianity,  in 
biblical  criticism,  and  sacred  learning.  James  Walker 
spoke  of  Mr.  Norton’s  “  great  work  on  the  genuine¬ 
ness  of  the  Gospels,”  and  Andrew  P.  Peabody,  also 
one  of  his  pupils  in  the  divinity  school,  writes  of 
him  thus.* 

He  carried  to  the  investigations  of  the  sacred  writings  the 
same  microscopic  scrutiny  and  uncompromising  excision  of 
whatever  can  be  otherwise  than  genuine,  which  the  great  Ger¬ 
man  scholars  have  brought  to  the  study  of  the  Greek  and  Ro¬ 
man  classics.  ...  In  the  Gospels  he  rejected  every  passage, 
every  text,  every  word,  in  which  he  could  discover  any  possi¬ 
ble  token  of  interpolation  or  error  in  transcription  ;  and  the 
books  thus  expurgated  he  received,  because  he  had  convinced 
himself,  by  research  and  reasoning,  that  they  were  the  veritable 
writings  of  the  men  whose  names  they  bear,  and  the  authentic 
record  of  Him  whose  life  they  portray.  ...  I  have  never 
known  a  firmer  belief  than  his  in  the  divine  mission  and  au¬ 
thority  of  Jesus  Christ. 

Thus  fortified  there  could  be  no  misgiving.  The 
mind  was  free  to  range  over  the  whole  field  of  lit¬ 
erature,  scientific,  historical,  biographical,  linguistic, 

*  “  Reminiscences,”  p.  74. 


72 


BOSTON  UNITARIAN  ISM. 


archaeological,  poetical,  didactic,  dramatic,  miscel¬ 
laneous, ;  Almost  every  Unitarian  clergyman  had 
some  pursuit  outside  of  his  profession.  Norton  was 
a  poet,  read  Shakespeare  impressively,  edited,  in  con¬ 
nection  with  Charles  Folsom,  The  Select  Journal 
of  Foreign  Periodical  Literature ,  republished  the 
verses  of  Mrs.  Hemans.  Palfrey  busied  himself  with 
the  chronicles  of  New  England.  Young  was  inter¬ 
ested  in  the  elegant  letters  of  the  old  country.  W, 
B.  O.  Peabody  was  a  student  of  natural  history,  and 
by  appointment  of  the  Legislature  of  Massachusetts 
wrote  a  report  on  the  birds  of  the  Commonwealth, 
Lunt,  beside  writing  on  subjects  of  biography  and 
history,  possessed  poetical  talents.  Greenwood  was 
devoted  to  the  contemplation  of  the  stars,  the  flowers, 
and  every  object  of  beauty  in  creation.  Francis  read 
all  the  new  books.  Walker  wras  learned  in  intellec¬ 
tual  philosophy.  Hedge  was  an  adept  in  history,  in 
German  literature,  and  many  other  things.  Bobbins 
disported  himself  in  biography,  with  excursions  in 
Hindu  lore.  In  Mr.  Frothingham’s  “  Metrical 
Pieces  ”  there  are  translations  from  Aratus,  Proper¬ 
tius,  Martial,  Manzoni,  Goethe,  Schiller,  Herder, 
Biickert,  Uhland,  Yon  Zedlitz,  Von  Auersperg, 
Heine.  The  hymns  with  which  he  enriched  the 
language  turn,  of  course,  on  sacred  themes,  abound 
in  imagery  drawn  from  the  Scriptures,  and  are  full 
of  religious  sentiment,  but  they  evince  a  most  careful 
regard  for  rhythmic  expression. 

There  was  very  little  interest  in  denominational 
distinctions.  The  term  “  liberal  Christian  ”  was 


LITERATURE  AND  RELIGION . 


73 


especially  repudiated  as  arrogant.  To  insinuate  that 
others  are  illiberal  is  certainly  a  strange  way  of  prov¬ 
ing  one’s  generosity.  “  The  true  liberal  Christian,” 
wrote  Mr.  Frothingham,  “is  he  who  can,  in  the  first 
place,  believe  he  may  be  wrong  while  firmly  con¬ 
vinced  he  is  right.”  The  word  “  Christian  ”  was 
more  emphasized  than  the  word  “  liberal.”  To  be 
liberal  outside  of  Christianity  was  not  thought  of, 
and  inside  of  it  liberality  consisted  in  the  willing¬ 
ness  to  receive  such  new  truth  as  might  break  out  of 
God’s  word.  7  None  were  liberal  in  any  other  sense, 
and  in  this  sense  the  Unitarians  could  not  claim  to 
be  alone,  nor  did  the  wisest  of  them.  It  was  in  tak¬ 
ing  a  poetical  instead  of  a  dogmatical  view  of  the 
biblical  statements  that  the  best  minds  emancipated 
themselves  from  theological  trammels  and  prepared 
the  way  for  a  bolder  advance  into  the  domain  of 
universal  religion.  There  is  a  curious  illustration  of 
this  in  an  article  on  “  Man  before  Adam  ”  in  the 
Christian  Examiner  for  January,  1851.  In  that 
paper  N.  L.  Frothingham  said :  “We  hear  it  con¬ 
stantly  with  new  wonder,  though  repeated  for  the 
hundredth  time,  how  the  true  theory  of  the  solar 
system  was  rejected  as  an  error  and  persecuted  as 
a  blasphemy,  because  the  Book  of  Joshua  quotes 
from  the  Book  of  Jasher — which  might  have  been 
a  collection  of  heroic  ballads,  or  a  lyric  on  the  i  Con¬ 
quest  of  Canaan  ’ — the  poetical  extravagance  of  the 
Hebrew  captain  stopping  the  sun,  which  stopping 
could  not  have  been  done,  unless  the  sun  moved. 
This  ludicrous  example  is  still  a  fair  warning  against 


74 


BOSTON  UNIT  A  RIA  NISM. 


pressing  our  construction  of  any  passage  of  history 
from  the  elder  times  and  the  twilight  of  humanity, 
so  as  to  bar  the  way  of  philosophic  inquiry  in  pursu¬ 
ing  its  legitimate  and  peculiar  researches.  We  may 
observe  in  passing  that  parallels  to  that  passage  from 
the  Book  of  Jasher  occur  in  Grecian  poetry.”  Then 
he  cites  Homer’s  “  Iliad  ”  and  Callimachus’  “  Hymn 
to  Diana.”  Again,  in  the  opening  discourse  of  the 
“  Sermons  of  a  Twelvemonth,”  printed  in  1852,  Mr. 
Frothingham  says,  preaching  from  1  Samuel  xi.,  14 : 
“  It  would  be  ill-suited  to  an  occasion  like  this,  to 
be  retracing  the  faint  lines  of  a  perished  antiquity. 
What  to  us  is  Samuel,  the  gray-haired  prophet  of  an 
infant  nation,  or  Gilgal,  a  spot  of  ground  once  sacred 
but  now  forgotten,  by  the  river  of  a  distant  land  ? 
What  to  us  is  the  renewing  of  a  kingdom  that  so 
soon  and  so  ingloriously  went  to  decay  ?  ” 

The  feeling  toward  science  was  most  cordial,  but, 
it  will  be  observed,  was  confined,  of  necessity,  to 
questions  raised  at  that  time.  The  lines  were  not 
drawn  so  closely  then  as  they  have  been  since.  Dar¬ 
win  had  not  agitated  the  minds  of  that  age.  Still,  as 
far  as  could  be  gone,  perfect  liberty  was  guaranteed, 
and  on  grounds  entirely  rational.  In  the  article  just 
quoted  I  find  the  following  passage  : 

“We  say,  that  in  no  case  whatever,  and  in  no 
degree  whatever,  should  the  student  of  physical  sci¬ 
ence  be  checked  or  limited  in  his  inquiries  by  the 
supposed  authority  of  any  ancient  writing,  however 
sacred.  The  provinces  of  biblical  criticism  and  of 


LITERATURE  AND  RELIGION. 


75 


any  sucli  science  are  entirely  distinct  from  one  an¬ 
other.  It  is  difficult  to  suppose  that  any  authentic 
history  could  travel  down  to  us  from  so  far ;  and  we 
do  not  see  why  the  Old  Testament  Scriptures  should 
be  set  up  as  the  arbitrator  on  the  method  of  the  ori¬ 
gin  of  the  human  race  as  a  scientific  fact,  any  more 
than  upon  a  question  of  geology  or  astronomy.” 

And  this  is  called  a  truism  to  be  apologized  for  on 
account  of  its  triteness. 

The  literary  era  was  introduced  by  Rev.  Joseph 
Stevens  Buckminster,  a  remarkable  man,  one  of  the 
most  active  members  of  the  Anthology  Club,  a 
literary  society  which  concentrated  the  talent  of 
Boston  and  vicinity  and  supported  the  Monthly 
Anthology ,  a  magazine  chiefly  literary,  but  instru¬ 
mental  also  in  applying  the  intellectual  method  to 
the  problems  of  theology.  Mr.  Buckminster  travelled 
in  Europe,  saw  a  great  many  distinguished  men, 
made  the  acquaintance  of  German  theology  (it  is 
said  that  he  first  introduced  Marsh’s  translation  of 
Michaelis  into  the  United  States),  was  an  accom¬ 
plished  man  of  letters,  had  a  fine  library,  the  largest 
in  this  neighborhood,  public  libraries  not  being 
excepted,  particularly  rich  in  sacred  and  in  classical 
books ;  was  one  of  the  first  to  institute  in  this  part 
of  the  country  the  study  of  bibliography,  and,  by 
his  own  enthusiasm,  lent  a  powerful  impulse  to 
scholarship.  The  systematic  study  of  biblical  criti¬ 
cism  owed  much  to  him  and  went  hand  in  hand 
with  learning.  His  father,  seeing  his  literary  bent, 


76 


BOSTON  UNITARIANISM. 


strongly  advised  him  not  to  enter  upon  the  clerical 
profession,  but  a  predilection  for  that  calling  pre¬ 
vailed,  and,  after  all,  as  a  learned  pursuit,  it  offered 
the  largest  scope  to  the  mind.  His  early  death  was 
an  immense  loss  to  our  intellectual  world,  at  that 
time  just  starting  on  its  career  and  trying  to  shake 
off  the  incubus  of  doctrinal  tradition.  His  cultiva¬ 
tion  of  ancient  history,  philosophy,  art,  even  of 
music ;  his  elegance  of  taste,  his  love  of  chaste 
language  and  harmonious  sentences,  rendered  his 
influence  almost  poetical  and  truly  rational,  at  once 
conservative  in  sentiment  and  progressive  in  thought. 
It  is  somewhat  remarkable  that  his  two  successors, 
Edward  Everett  and  John  Gorham  Palfrey,  should 
both  have  left  the  ministry  for  secular  pursuits. 
This  would  seem  to  show  an  overwhelming  tendency 
toward  literature.  Mr.  Buckminster’s  extraordinary 
charm  of  manner  and  immense  popularity  assisted  in 
domesticating  literature  in  the  community  and  asso¬ 
ciating  religion  with  it. 

At  all  events,  whether  this  was  the  cause  or  some 
other,  a  very  mild  type  of  religious  doctrine  prevailed 
among  the  Unitarians  after  Mr.  Buckminster’s  time ; 
after  1812  orthodoxy  was  transfigured. 

As  I  read  of  those  days  I  am  reminded  of  the 
bronze  monuments  in  the  old  world  made  of  cannon 
which  once  belched  forth  flames  and  hot  iron  but 
now  stand  in  mute  beauty  in  some  crowded  square, 
gladdening  the  sunny  space ;  or  the  threatening 
clouds  on  Mt.  Washington,  that  melted  away  in  the 


LITERATURE  AND  RELIGION. 


77 


morning’s  beam  and  crept  meekly  up  the  mountain 
side,  as  if  to  get  off  under  tke  innocent  guise  of  a 
flock  of  skeep.  Poems  of  William  H.  Furness,  of 
Robert  C.  Waterston,  of  William  P.  Lunt,  of  John 
Pierpont,  of  Andrews  Norton,  of  Frederic  H.  Hedge, 
of  James  F.  Clarke,  of  Edmund  H.  Sears,  of  William 
Newell,  of  Stephen  G.  Bulfinck,  and  of  many  others, 
laymen  as  wTell  as  clergymen,  are  evidence  of  the 
transformation.  They  are  sacred  songs.  The  best 
of  N.  L.  Frothingham’s  pieces  have  this  shadowy 
background  of  religious  sentiment,  and  he  liked 
nothing  that  did  not  show  it,  though  it  must  not  be 
too  conspicuous.  Then  he  had  a  strong  distaste  for 
Thackeray,  whom  he  thought  worldly  and  flippant ; 
and  for  Goethe,  who  was  too  much  of  a  pagan  for 
him.  On  the  other  hand,  he  could  not  bear  Mrs. 
Browning,  who  seemed  to  him  saponaceous.  He 
required  moral  fibre,  and,  on  this  account,  despised 
Coleridge,  who,  in  his  judgment,  was  not  only  selfish 
but  pretentious,  and  willing  to  shine  in  borrowed 
plumage.  Scott,  and  Southey,  and  Schiller  were 
favorites  with  him ;  but  Shelley,  Byron,  Heine  !  The 
more  philosophic  schools — Wordsworth,  for  ex¬ 
ample — he  did  not  care  for.  He  was  a  realist,  but 
with  a  strong  flavor  of  romanticism.  The  least  sus¬ 
picion  of  hollowness  or  cynicism  he  resented,  and  he 
was  perhaps  too  ready  to  suspect  them  when  they 
did  not  exist.  But  to  return  to  his  own  verses.  The 
following  are  good  specimens  of  what  I  mean,  and 
may  serve  as  illustrations. 


;s 


BOSTON  UNIT  A  RIANISM. 


STRENGTH. 

TO  A  FRIEND  NEAR  DEATH. 

“When  I  am  weak,  I ’m  strong,” 

The  great  Apostle  cried. 

The  strength,  that  did  not  to  the  earth  belong, 
The  might  of  Heaven  supplied. 

“  When  I  am  weak,  I ’m  strong  ”  ; — 

Blind  Milton  caught  that  strain, 

And  flung  its  victory  o’er  the  ills  that  throng 
Round  Age,  and  Want,  and  Pain. 

“  When  I  am  weak,  I ’m  strong,’ 

Each  Christian  heart  repeats  ; 

These  words  will  tune  its  feeblest  breath  to  song, 
And  fire  its  languid  beats. 

“  When  I  am  weak,  I ’m  strong  ”  ; — 

That  saying  is  for  you, 

Dear  friend,  and  well  it  may  become  your  tongue, 
Whose  soul  has  found  it  true. 

O  Holy  Strength  !  whose  ground 
Is  in  the  heavenly  land  ; 

And  whose  supporting  help  alone  is  found 
In  God’s  immortal  hand. 

O  blessed  !  that  appears 

When  fleshly  aids  are^  spent  ; 

And  girds  the  mind,  when  most  it  faints  and  fears. 
With  trust  and  sweet  content. 

It  bids  us  cast  aside 
All  thoughts  of  lesser  powers  ; 

Give  up  all  hopes  from  changing  time  and  tide, 
And  all  vain  will  of  ours. 

We  have  but  to  confess 

That  there ’s  but  one  retreat  ; 

And  meekly  lay  each  need  and  each  distress 
Down  at  the  Sovereign  Feet  ; — 


LITERATURE  AND  RELIGION . 


79 


Then,  then  it  fills  the  place 
Of  all  we  hoped  to  do  ; 

And  sunken  Nature  triumphs  in  the  Grace 
That  bears  us  up  and  through. 

A  better  glow  than  health 
Flushes  the  cheek  and  brow  ; 

The  heart  is  stout  with  store  of  nameless  wealth  ; — 

We  can  do  all  things  now. 

No  less  sufficience  seek  ; 

All  counsel  less  is  wrong  ; 

The  whole  world’s  force  is  poor,  and  mean,  and  weak  ; — 
“  When  I  am  weak,  I ’m  strong.” 


A  DEPARTURE. 

“  WEEP  NOT  ;  SHE  IS  NOT  DEAD.” 


No  !  call  it  not  to  die,  to  pass  away 
Thus,  and  to  be  translated  ; — every  power 
Of  mind  and  spirit  kept  till  life’s  last  breath  ; 

No  pain  to  rack  the  frame  ;  no  weak  regret 
Or  anxious  doubt  to  cloud  the  parting  soul  ; 

Peace  in  the  heart,  and  hope  upon  the  brow, — 

Ay,  more  than  hope, — faith  changing  into  vision, 

As  this  bright  world,  with  all  its  bloom  upon  it, 

Was  opening  upward  into  views  of  heaven. 

This  is  not  death,  but  ceasing  to  be  mortal. 

It  may  remind  us  of  those  old  departures, 

Those  exoduses,  told  in  Holy  Writ, 

Which  that  word  “  dead  ”  was  not  allowed  to  darken. 
“  And  Enoch  walked  with  God  ;  and  he  was  not, 

For  God  had  taken  him.” — “  And  he  was  not,” — 
Not  on  the  earth,  where  he  had  walked  so  long, — 

As  many  years  as  each  year  shines  in  days, — 

But  lost  to  human  eyesight ;  disappearing 
Within  the  splendor  where  he  walks  for  ever. 


8o 


BOSTON  U N I TA RI A N ISM. 


When  Israel’s  prophet,  he  that  was  its  chariot 
And  horseman,  felt  that  his  last  hour  was  come, — 
His  last  below, — a  fiery  car  and  steeds 
Of  fire  his  fervid  spirit  snatched  away. 

It  was  not  so  with  her.  No  troubled  sky, 

No  shapes  of  terrible  beauty,  broke  the  calm, 

That  blessed  her  sweet  translation  from  the  world. 
O  mourn  not  for  her  !  Mourn  but  for  the  dead, — 
The  dead  in  sins,  the  dead  in  hopelessness. 

She  has  but  just  put  on  her  incorruption. 


A  MEDITATION. 

Too  far  from  thee,  O  Lord  ! 

The  world  is  close  upon  each  captured  sense  ; 

The  heart’s  dear  idols  never  vanish  hence  ; 

Life’s  care  and  labor  still  are  pressing  nigh  ; 

Its  fates  and  passions  hard  about  me  lie  ; — 

But  Thou  art  dim  behind  thine  infinite  sky, 

O  distantly  adored  ! 

O  Lord,  too  far  from  thee  ! 

Unwinged  Time  stands  ever  in  my  sight, 

Flooding  the  Past  and  Now  with  gloom  and  light  ; 
Silent,  but  busy,  constant  at  my  side, 

It  shreds  away  strength,  beauty,  joy,^and  pride. 
Eternal  !  why  am  I  from  Thee  so  wide, 

Nor  thy  near  Presence  see  ? 

Ne’er  languished  for  as  now. 

Now  that  the  hold  of  Earth  feels  poor  and  frail, — 
Now  that  the  cheek  of  Hope  looks  thin  and  pale, 

And  forms  of  buried  love  rise  ghostly  round, 

And  dark  thoughts  struggle  on  o’er  broken  ground, — 
Where  is  thy  face,  O  Father  !  radiant  found 
With  mercy  on  thy  brow  ? 

I  know  that  not  from  far, 

Not  from  abroad,  this  presence  is  revealed, — 

To  our  will  denied,  and  from  our  wit  concealed. 

No  search  can  find  Thee,  no  entreaty  bring, — 
Reason  a  weak,  Desert  a  spotted  thing. 

O  Spirit,  lift  me  on  thy  dove-like  wing 
To  realms  that  last  and  Are  ! 


LITERATURE  AND  RELIGION. 


81 


“  ARISE  AND  EAT.” 

“Arise  and  eat,  because  the  journey  is  too  great  for  thee.” — i  Kings  xix.  7. 

“  The  journey  is  too  great  for  thee,” 

The  prophet  heard  ; 

And  all  may  list  in  secrecy 
The  self-same  word. 

Life’s  way  and  work  lie  forward  spread 
In  Duty’s  sight  ; 

And  who  but  needs  more  strength  to  stead, 

And  fuller  light  ? 

And  grant  no  lack  of  view  or  force, — 

We  faint  in  will  ; 

And  so  the  sweep  of  that  great  course 
We  fail  to  fill. 

The  weary  tracts  of  pain  and  grief 
Will  stretch  far  through, 

Till  the  flesh  sinks  beyond  relief, 

And  the  heart  too. 

The  tangled  paths  of  many  a  care 
Wind  slow  about  ; 

And  straight  in  front,  lo  !  flinty  fare 
And  foggy  doubt  ; 

And  hindrances  the  firmest  tread 
Will  oft  beset  ; 

And  perils  with  a  deeper  dread 
The  dear  life  threat. 

“  The  journey  is  too  great  for  thee  !  ” 

Beyond  the  bounds 

Where  Time  parts  from  Immensity 
Its  measured  grounds. 

Oh,  then  that  other  word  attend  ! 

Its  offer  meet ; — 

The  calling  of  an  angel-friend  : 

“  Arise  and  eat.” 


6 


82 


BOSTON  UNI TA RIA N ISM. 


Eat  of  the  fruits  of  holy  trust 
In  heavenly  good  ; 

Not  grown  of  dust,  to  mould  to  dust, 

But  angel’s  food. 

That  food  shall  nerve  both  limb  and  heart 
When  faint  with  fear  ; 

And  pour  through  each  immortal  part 
Its  power  and  cheer. 

Thus,  girt  with  zeal,  the  travelling  soul, 
With  patience  shod, 

Arrives  at  Horeb’s  distant  goal, 

The  mount  of  God. 


“THINE  EYES  SHALL  SEE  THE  KING.” 

“  Thine  eyes  shall  see  the  King  in  his  beauty, 

And  the  land  that  is  very  far  off.” — Isaiah  xxxiii.  17. 

Stand  thou  but  clad  and  begirt  for  thy  duty 
Till  all  vestures  of  Time  thou  must  doff  ; 

Then  thine  eyes  shall  see  the  King  in  his  beauty, 

And  the  land  that  is  very  far  off. 

Not  “  they  shall  see  the  King  in  his  glory,” — 

’T  were  more  than  those  eyes  might  abide  ; 

His  face  bears  the  touch  of  a  mortal  story, 

And ’t  was  love  that  scarred  his  side. 

As  far  away  from  thought  as  appearance 
Lie  the  scenes  of  that  prophet  clime  ; 

Behind  these  mountains  of  interference, 

Beyond  these  rivers  of  Time. 

We  wander  in  error  and  weakness  and  vanity, 

No  courage  to  move,  and  no  patience  to  stand  : 

When  shall  we  see  that  King  of  humanity, 

And  tread  his  invisible  land? 

Now,  in  the  broad  high  places  of  Feeling  ; 

Now,  in  kind,  self-forgetting  Deeds, — 

There  lie  the  realms  of  the  Spirit’s  revealing ; 

This  is  the  lesson  the  Spirit  reads. 


LITERATURE  AND  RELIGION. 


83 


IN  BEHALF  OF  “  THE  HOME  FOR  DESTITUTE  AND 

INCURABLE  WOMEN.” 

Incurable  !  Sweet  Nature’s  healing  forces 
Struck  at  the  root,  and  wasted  at  the  spring  ; 

While  Art  and  Science,  with  their  grand  resources, 

No  means  can  study  out,  no  rescue  bring. 

Incurable  !  The  fatal  word  is  spoken 

That  smites  the  faint  heart  with  its  flat  despair  ; 

Yet  it  is  heard  with  spirit  not  all  broken, 

If  Gratitude  and  Faith  their  solace  bear. 

Waken  that  thankfulness  in  Misery’s  daughters, 

Which,  more  than  expectation,  holds  us  up  ; 

Direct  the  flow  of  ever-living  waters 
To  fill  the  hollow  of  their  earthen  cup. 

— Nature  and  flesh,  in  sinking,  do  not  alter 

The  thoughts  that  rise  beyond  decay  and  pain  ; 

And,  when  the  leech’s  cunning  fingers  falter, 

Eternal  hands  the  inward  life  sustain. 

Sharp  the  distress,  as  desperate  the  condition, 

Of  those  who  here  lie  at  the  Beautiful  Gate, 

And  from  the  name  of  Him,  the  Great  Physician, 

With  patient  eyes  their  whole  deliverance  wait. 

That  name  is  Mercy.  Show  your  portion  of  it : 

Aid  your  poor  sisters  in  their  sorest  need  ; 

And  so  join  with  Apostle  and  with  Prophet, 

Who  bore  its  message  and  fulfilled  its  deed. 

Small  is  their  hope  but  in  the  upper  dwelling  ; 

Too  weak  to  labor,  and  too  lame  to  roam  : 

Let  not  the  record  that ’s  on  high  be  telling 
You  grudged  the  weary  feet  a  transient  “  Home.” 


THE  CROSSED  SWORDS. 

Read  at  a  meeting  of  the  Massachusetts  Historical  Society,  April  28,  1859, 
on  occasion  of  the  transfer  of  two  swords,  so  arranged,  from  the  library  of 
William  H.  Prescott  to  that  of  the  Society.  One  of  them  was  worn  by 


84 


BOSTON  UNITARIANISM. 


Colonel  William  Prescott  at  the  battle  of  Bunker  Hill  ;  the  other  by  Captain 
Linzee,  who  commanded  the  British  sloop-of-war  Falcon,  which  cannonaded 
the  American  troops  during  that  action.  The  two  families  were  afterwards- 
allied  in  intermarriage. 

Swords  crossed,  but  not  in  strife  ! 

The  chiefs  who  drew  them,  parted  by  the  space 
Of  two  proud  countries’  quarrel,  face  to  face 
Ne’er  stood,  for  death  or  life. 

Swords  crossed,  that  never  met 
While  nerve  was  in  the  hands  that  wielded  them  ; 

Hands  better  destined  a  fair  family  stem 
On  these  free  shores  to  set. 

Kept  crossed  by  gentlest  bands  ! 

Emblems  no  more  of  battle,  but  of  peace  ; 

And  proofs  how  loves  can  grow  and  wars  can  cease, 

Their  once  stern  symbol  stands. 

It  smiled  first  on  the  array 
Of  marshalled  books  and  friendliest  companies  ; 

And  here,  a  history  among  histories, 

It  still  shall  smile  alway. 

See  that  thou  memory  keep 
Of  him  the  first  Commander,  and  that  other 
The  stainless  Judge,1  and  him  our  peerless  brother,— 

All  fallen  now  to  sleep. 

Yet  more  :  a  lesson  teach, 

To  cheer  the  patriot  soldier  in  his  course, 

That  Right  shall  triumph  still  o’er  insolent  Force  : 

That  be  your  silent  speech. 

Oh,  be  prophetic,  too  ! 

And  may  those  nations  twain,  as  sign  and  seal 
Of  endless  amity,  hang  up  their  steel, 

As  we  these  weapons  do. 

The  archives  of  the  past, 

So  smeared  with  blots  of  hate  and  bloody  wrong. 

Pining  for  peace,  and  sick  to  wait  so  long, 

Hail  this  meek  cross  at  last. 

1  Judge  William  Prescott,  father  of  the  historian. 


LITERATURE  AND  RELIGION. 


85 


A  SONNET. 

How  blest  this  peaceful  hour  and  tranquil  soul  I 
Why  are  we  so  disquieted  in  vain  ? 

Feeble  affronts  will  break  the  temper’s  rein. 

And  little  crosses  master  self-control. 

A  vanishing  spark  we  turn  to  burning  coal, 

And  insect  buzzings  overthrow  the  brain. 

We  fret  at  Time  and  Nature  ;  and  complain 
That  fates  are  fixtures,  and  that  fortunes  roll. 

We  sigh  along  the  past,  that  now  is  not ; 

And  tremble  at  the  future,  that  as  yet 
Is  nothing  but  what  fancy’s  fears  beget, 

And  draws  no  blade  across  a  single  spot. 

Take  lessons  from  these  moments,  O  fond  heart  1 
When  no  griefs  press  thee,  and  no  terrors  start. 


BARTIMzEUS. 

“  What  wouldst  thou  I  should  do  for  thee  ?  ” 
Said  he  who  held  the  wonder-key 
Of  Nature’s  secret  virtues  ;  who 
The  utmost  that  he  said  could  do  ; 

For,  not  like  these  poor  breaths  of  ours, 

His  words  were  gifts  and  acts  and  powers. 

The  questioned  man  had  ears  to  hear, 

And  Touch  was  true  in  its  small  sphere  ; 

His  tongue  was  quick  ;  he  rose  to  meet 
The  Grace  that  called  him  to  his  feet. 

But  hidden  were  Christ’s  form  and  face, 

The  moving  crowd,  the  unmoving  place  ; 
The  kingly  sense  that  lights  the  mind 
Was  gone  :  Timseus’  son  was  blind. 

He  answered, — did  he  answer  right  ? — 

“  Lord,  that  I  might  receive  my  sight.” 

Oh,  chide  not  that  he  could  not  lift 
His  heart  to  any  higher  gift ; 

And  when  a  heavenly  offerer  came, 

No  heavenly  gift  could  think  or  name. 

“  Receive  thy  sight,”  the  Christ  replied ; 
And  the  glad  wretch  walked  justified. 


86 


BOSTON  UNIT  A  RIA  NISM. 


Sat  there  that  clay  a  king  at  hand, 

With  sceptre  over  sea  and  land, 

And  wealth  and  splendor  round  his  throne, 

Free  to  all  eyes, — denied  his  own, — 

On  his  crowned  brow  were  blot  like  that, 

Would  he  not  cast  to  mole  and  bat 
His  royalty,  for  leave  to  share 
A  portion  with  that  beggar  there  ; 

And  rags  to  jewelled  robes  prefer, 

With  power  to  see  that  rags  they  were  ? 

The  blind  are  happy,  it  is  said. 

Not  so  this  scripture  tale  has  read. 

The  sharp  cry  could  not  silenced  be, 

“  Have  mercy,  mercy,  upon  me, 

Thou  son  of  David.”  What  he  craved 
Was  met  with  this,  “  Thy  faith  hath  saved.” 

Yet  list  we  to  that  plaintive  cheer  ; 

’T  is  wisely  spoke  and  sweet  to  hear  ; 

And  many  witnesses  renew 
The  faith  that  it  is  strangely  true  : 

Yes,  happy, — cleave  we  to  the  hope, 

Though  feet  must  swerve  and  hands  must  grope  ; 
All  action  played  behind  a  screen, 

The  world  no  space  and  life  no  scene  ; 

Though  nature,  art,  streets,  fields,  and  books, 
And  better,  best,  all  friendly  looks, 

Have  faded  into  nought  ;  the  gaze 
That  spans  a  world  and  threads  a  maze, 

And,  when  the  round  of  day  is  done 
Outshoots  the  arrows  of  the  sun, 

Changed  for  the  thin  short  line  that  slips 
Beneath  the  moving  finger-tips. 

Who  that  hath  watched  the  smiles,  that  chase 
Each  other  o’er  the  tranquil  face 
Thus  mutilate,  does  not  decree 
A  place  for  them  in  memory  ? 

The  human  soul  a  debtor  lies 
To  him  who  sang  of  Paradise  ; 

Who  tells  you  that  a  single  jot 
Of  heart  or  hope  he  bated  not. 

Nay,  there  are  they  whose  playful  strain 


LITERATURE  AND  RELIGION . 


87 


Has  argued  that  this  want  was  gain. 

Still  Memory’s  rigid  canvas  glows, 

And  Fancy’s  free  conception  flows, 

And  Reason  tells  her  problems  o’er, 

And  gleaning  Thoughts  find  field  and  store. 

What,  then  ?  Did  our  poor  Israelite 
Prize  at  too  much  the  wealth  of  sight  ? 

And  is  its  loss  a  lighter  woe 

Than  men  have  thought  ?  Oh  no  !  oh  no  ! 

This  new  Beatitude  will  prove 

The  wonder  of  the  Father-love, 

That  bids  such  compensation  wait 
On  a  calamity  so  great, 

Because  so  great.  Oh  !  bless  the  care 
That  stoops  to  such  a  deep  despair. 

The  blind  are  happy  ?  Only  such 
As  make  the  world’s  small  remnant  much, 
And  call  an  inward  state  to  atone 
For  what  makes  this  without  so  lone. 

Nor  all  concealed  from  human  thought 
How  this  celestial  work  is  wrought ; 

They  who  see  not  have  eyes  that  lend 
Their  aid  to  guide  and  to  defend  ; 

Aye,  numberless.  They  sit  immured 
In  kindly  offices  ;  secured 
By  their  strong  helplessness.  Who  stem 
The  boldest  crowds,  make  way  for  them. 
Mark  on  the  pavement  how  the  click 
Of  their  half-seeing,  slender  stick, 

Is  potent  as  a  Sultan’s  word 
Or  Marshal’s  staff  or  conqueror’s  sword. 
Close  tended  by  the  good  and  kind, 

They  form  the  temper  that  they  find. 

Does  not  the  disposition  bless, 

And  good-will  grow  to  happiness  ? 

With  narrowing  range  of  earth’s  ado, 

The  field  of  strife  is  narrowed  too  : 

The  tents  are  struck,  the  flags  are  furled, 
That  make  a  camp  of  half  the  world  : 

As  feuds  and  provocations  close, 

The  unchallenged  spirit  tastes  repose. 


88 


BOSTON  UNITARIANISM. 


The  Son  of  Man,  in  passing  by, 

Heeded  his  suppliant’s  frantic  cry, 

Opened  his  eyes  to  drink  the  day, 

And  showed  his  following  steps  the  way  : 

He  passes  by  no  more.  A  sphere 
Immortal  holds  him.  But  e’en  here, 

And  now,  and  evermore  he  stands, 

And  lifts  his  voice  and  lays  his  hands. 

Courage  and  cure  ;  But  not  as  when 
He  moved  among  those  Hebrew  men. 

No  miracle  or  transient  sign 
Attest  the  word  or  act  divine. 

The  painted  earth  and  painted  sky 
And  looks  of  dear  humanity, 

He  brings  not  back  ;  but  shows  in  light 
What  needs  no  orb  of  sensuous  sight. 

Ideal  growths  flush  into  bloom 
And  dove-like  sits  that  raven  gloom. 

O  Son  of  David  !  many  sit 
In  that  deep  valley.  Speak  to  it ! 

Set  Duty’s  plain  and  Faith’s  high  hill 
Before  them  ;  and  within  them  still 
Let  Mind  pursue  its  even  trains, 

Affection  chant  its  sweet  refrains, 

And  Truth  draw  clear  its  landscape  lines, 

Clear  as  where  Nature  buds  and  shines. 

From  that  bright  realm  reflect  a  ray 
Where  tears  and  films  are  wiped  away. 

Let  patience  hold  and  love  increase  ; 

And  fold  them  in  thy  peace,  thy  peace. 

Two  series  of  tliese  modestly  called  “Metrical 
Pieces,”  were  printed,  the  first  in  1855,  the  second  in 
1870,  immediately  after  his  death,  which  prevented 
his  carrying  the  volume  through  the  press.  The 
latter  contains  old  hymns  in  German,  which  he 
amused  himself  by  translating  as  he  sat  in  his  chair, 
blind.  They  were  committed  to  memory,  verse  by 
verse,  and  then  turned  into  English,  the  original 


LITERATURE  AND  RELIGION.  89 

metre  being  preserved.  Here  is  a  specimen,  no 
better  than  the  rest. 

WAS  GOTT  THUT  DAS  1ST  WOHLGETHAN. 

(This  hymn  was  written  at  Jena  by  Samuel  Rodigast  in  1675,  for  a  sick 
friend,  who  composed  the  fine  melody  to  which  it  is  set.) 


What  God  doth,  it  is  all  well  done, 
His  will  upright  abiding  : 

Since  he  hath  traced  my  course  begun, 
I  will  go  on  confiding. 

My  God  is  he 
Who  holdeth  me  : 

I  will  not  turn  complainer 
At  such  a  wise  Ordainer. 

What  God  doth,  it  is  all  well  done  ; 

He  never  will  deceive  me  : 

In  righteous  paths  he  leadeth  on, 

And  never  will  he  leave  me. 

With  patience  still 
I  meet  his  will  : 

Ill  days  he  timely  closeth, 

That  run  as  he  disposeth. 

What  God  doth,  it  is  all  well  done  ; 

His  care  will  be  unfailing  : 

A  Healer,  and  a  wondrous  one, 

Will  not  mistake  my  ailing. 

No  poisons  his 
For  remedies. 

His  truth  is  my  foundation  ; 

His  grace  my  whole  salvation. 

What  God  doth,  it  is  all  well  done  { 
He  is  my  light  and  being. 

Mere  evil  he  can  mean  me  none  : 

I  bow  to  his  decreeing. 

Through  weal  or  woe, 

Time  still  will  show, 

Which  every  thing  revealeth 
How  faithfully  he  dealeth. 


BOSTON  UNI TA RIA N ISM. 


9°, 


What  God  doth,  it  is  all  well  done. 

If  I  must  drink  the  chalice, 

The  bitter  cup  which  I  would  shun, 
My  shrinking  soul  he  rallies  ; 

And,  firmly  placed, 

My  heart  shall  taste 
That  sweet  peace  in  believing 
Which  softens  down  all  grieving. 

What  God  doth,  it  is  all  well  done  : 

Strong  shall  that  make  and  find  me. 
Rough  ways  I  may  be  forced  to  run, 
Griefs  pressing  close  behind  me  ; 

Yet  God  will  be 
Right  fatherly  ; 

In  death  his  arm  sustaineth  : 

Then  be  it  he  that  reigneth. 


I  must  think  that  justice  has  never  been  done  to 
the  purely  literary  spirit  in  regard  to  its  influence  in 
preparing  the  way  for  the  intellectual  liberty  which 
we  enjoy.  Its  grace,  its  sweetness,  its  love  of  beauty, 
its  desire  for  symmetry,  harmony,  proportion,  its 
hospitality  of  thought,  its  refinement  of  doctrine,  its 
discouragement  of  the  dictatorial  temper,  are  of  great 
importance.  In  bringing  about  the  Reformation, 
Erasmus  did  his  part  as  well  as  Luther.  Luther 
might  expostulate  with  Erasmus,  might  laugh  at 
him,  might  upbraid  him  as  a  coward,  still  it  is 
doubtful  if  the  former  could  have  done  his  work  so 
well,  had  not  the  latter,  by  his  gentle,  tolerant  dis¬ 
position,  his  immense  learning,  his  hatred  of  excess 
and  partisanship,  his  habit  of  applying  to  all  ques¬ 
tions  the  critical  method,  his  respect  for  reason,  his 
wit  and  keen  satire,  leavened  and  enlarged  the  mind 


LITERATURE  AND  RELIGION .  9 1 

of  Germany.  Sweetness  and  light  are  no  mean  pow¬ 
ers.  The  sunbeam  daily  re-creates  a  universe,  makes 
the  birds  sing,  the  animals  rejoice,  the  forests  clothe 
themselves  with  verdure,  the  flowers  bloom,  and  man 
able  to  renew  his  labor.  The  social  world  would 
even  come  to  an  end  if  there  were  storms  only  in  it, 
or  storms  often.  Our  dependence  is  on  philosophy 
mainly.  It  has  been  heretofore,  and  it  will  be  so 
more  and  more  in  the  time  to  come.  In  the  second 
series  of  his  “  Essays  in  Criticism  ”  (The  Study  of 
Poetry),  Matthew  Arnold,  quoting  himself,  thus 
reaffirming  his  opinion,  says : 

The  future  of  poetry  is  immense,  because  in  poetry,  where 
it  is  worthy  of  its  high  destinies,  our  race,  as  time  goes  on,  will 
find  a  surer  and  ever  surer  stay.  There  is  not  a  creed  which 
is  not  shaken,  not  an  accredited  dogma  which  is  not  shown  to 
be  questionable,  not  a  received  tradition  which  does  not 
threaten  to  dissolve.  Our  religion  has  materialized  itself  in 
the  fact,  in  the  supposed  fact ;  it  has  attached  its  emotion 
to  the  fact,  and  now  the  fact  is  failing  it.  But  for  poetry  the 
idea  is  everything,  the  rest  is  a  world  of  illusion,  of  divine 
illusion.  Poetry  attaches  its  emotion  to  the  idea  ;  the  idea  is 
the  fact.  The  strongest  part  of  our  religion  to-day  is  its  un¬ 
conscious  poetry. 

And  Mr.  F.  W.  H.  Myers,  in  an  article  on  “  Ten¬ 
nyson  as  Prophet,”  in  the  Nineteenth  Century  Maga¬ 
zine  (March,  1889),  adds  his  word  : 

Meanwhile  we  need  our  prophets  ;  and  the  true  poet  comes 
nearer  to  inspiration  than  any  prophet  to  whom  we  can  hope  to 
listen  now.  Let  his  intuitions  come  to  us  dissolved  in  that 
fineness  of  thought  and  melody  which  makes  the  highest  art 
we  know  ;  let  flashes  of  a  strange  delight,  like  sparkles  in  the 


92 


BOSTON  UNITARIANISM . 


stone  Aventurine, — reveal  at  once  the  beauty  and  the  darkness 
of  the  meditations  whence  the  song  has  sprung.  Give  us,  if  so 
it  may  be,  the  exaltation  which  lifts  into  a  high  community ; 
the  words  which  stir  the  pulse  like  passion,  and  wet  the  eyes 
like  joy,  and  with  the  impalpable  breath  of  an  inward  murmur 
can  make  a  sudden  glory  in  the  deep  of  the  heart. 

This  is  the  mission  of  the  great  singers,  but  the 
minor  poets,  yes,  they  who  will  not  call  themselves 
by  that  fine  name,  do  something  to  clear  the  air  and 
render  the  atmosphere  easier  to  inhale.  The  lyrical 
view  of  religion  is  the  beginning  of  a  new  era  whose 
end  is  not  yet,  the  initiation  of  a  freer  movement  of 
mind  which  detaches  intellect  from  all  dogmatism 
and  ensures  a  perfect  freedom. 


V 


VI. 

THE  UNITARIAN  LAYMAN. 

In  1818  Mr.  Frothingham  was  married  to  Ann 
Gorham  Brooks,  eldest  daughter  of  Peter  Chardon 
Brooks,  of  Boston.  Mr.  Brooks  was  an  admirable 
example  of  the  Unitarian  layman  of  that  period, 
industrious,  honest,  faithful  in  all  relations  of  life, 
charitable,  public-spirited,  intelligent,  sagacious,  min¬ 
gling  the  prudence  of  the  man  of  affairs  with  the 
faith  of  the  Christian.  In  meditating  on  the  charac¬ 
ters  of  these  men,  one  is  reminded  of  the  good 
Samuel  Sewall.  Of  course  the  softening  influence 
of  one  hundred  and  fifty  years  had  produced  its 
effect.  There  was  less  reference  to  divine  interposi¬ 
tion,  less  literalness  in  interpreting  Scripture,  less 
bluntness,  less  superstition,  if  we  may  use  so  harsh  a 
word  in  speaking  of  that  sweet  soul.  But  there  was 
the  same  integrity,  the  same  conscientiousness,  the 
same  directness  of  dealing,  the  same  respect  for  learn¬ 
ing,  the  same  reverence  for  piety,  the  same  punctilious¬ 
ness  of  demeanor,  the  same  urbanity.  They  were 
not  reformers,  or  ascetics,  or  devotees.  All  idealists 
were  visionaries,  in  their  esteem.  Those  who  looked 


93 


94 


BOSTON  UNITARIANISM. 


for  a  “  kingdom  of  heaven  ”  were  dreamers.  They 
went  to  church ;  they  had  family  prayers  as  a  rule, 
though  by  no  means  universally.  It  was  customary 
to  say  grace  at  meat.  They  wished  they  were  holy 
enough  to  adorn  the  communion ;  they  believed  the 
narratives  in  the  Bible,  Old  Testament  and  New. 
As  one  recalls  the  leading  persons  in  Brattle  Street, 
Federal  Street,  Chauncy  Place,  King’s  Chapel,  the 
New  North,  the  New  South, — men  like  Adams,  Eliot, 
Perkins,  Bum  stead,  Lawrence,  Sullivan,  Jackson, 
Judge  Shaw,  Daniel  Webster,  Jacob  Bigelow,  T.  B. 
Wales,  Dr.  Bowditch, — forms  of  dignity  and  of  worth 
rise  before  the  mind.  Better  men  there  are  not. 
More  honorable  men,  according  to  the  standard  of 
the  time,  there  are  not  likely  to  be.  Numerous  others 
come  up, — William  H.  Prescott,  the  Putnams,  the 
Cabots.  I  used  to  see  people  who  had  the  cardinal 
virtues  of  the  Gospel ;  Mr.  Brooks  belonged  to  this 
class.  It  was  my  privilege,  some  time  ago,  to  read 
over  his  journal  and  the  picture  there  presented  is 
interesting,  not  merely  as  throwing  light  on  an  indi¬ 
vidual  character,  but  also  as  describing  an  order  of 
men.  There  were  more  distinguished  names  in 
literature,  in  science,  in  society,  but  none  were  more 
respected  for  probity,  for  sterling  qualities  of  char¬ 
acter.  Edward  Everett,  one  of  his  sons-in-law,  praised 
him  in  the  Merchants'  Magazine  /  Charles  F.  Adams, 
another  son-in-law,  paid  him  a  glorious  but  deserved 
tribute. 

It  is  true  that  the  world  was  small  then,  and  indi- 


THE  UNITARIAN  LA  YMAN. 


95 


viduals  were  prominent.  But  let  tlie  world  be  smaller 
or  larger,  the  sober  qualities  of  manhood  prevail  in 
the  long  run.  If  the  world  be  small,  the  honest  man 
is  seen  sooner,  and  comes  at  earlier  recognition.  If 
the  world  be  large,  his  work  and  influence  are  the 
same.  Brilliant  gifts  produce  at  the  moment  a  more 
startling  effect,  but  substantial  worth  alone  endures, 
giving  power  and  adding  to  the  permanent  growth  of 
society.  This  is  not  the  place  to  discuss  the  value 
of  the  private  person  as  compared  with  that  of  the 
showy  genius,  but  so  much  may  be  said,  that  unless 
genius  be  reinforced  by  character  its  impression  is 
evanescent,  while  character  alone  furnishes  the  funda¬ 
mental  basis  of  development.  Confidence  is  at  the 
bottom  of  progress,  and  confidence  is  won  and  held 
by  character.  It  is  commonly  after  a  long  lapse  of 
time  that  the  contribution  made  by  a  high-toned 
gentleman  is  acknowledged;  then  it  is,  and  we 
wonder  that  we  did  not  recognize  it  before.  This 
man’s  name  is  written  all  over  the  history  of  his 
time,  when  more  dazzling  persons  have  passed  away. 
He  was  simply  a  merchant,  coining  money  as  he  had 
opportunity,  buying  land,  making  investments,  send¬ 
ing  out  cargoes,  negotiating  bonds,  pursuing  a  quiet 
course,  yet  he  did  his  full  share  of  public  good,  and 
left  a  name  that  his  descendants  are  proud  to  bear. 

A  few  biographical  details  will  make  clear  their 
pride  of  lineage.  The  ancestor  came  from  England 
about  the  year  1630,  a  sturdy,  independent,  coura¬ 
geous  yeoman.  The  father  was  a  clergyman,  ordained 


96 


BOSTON  UNITARIANISM. 


at  North  Yarmouth  in  1764,  and  settled  there  five 
years,  when  a  separation  took  place,  occasioned 
partly  by  the  condition  of  his  health,  which  was  not 
good,  and  partly  by  his  theological  opinions,  which 
were  too  liberal  for  that  region  and  that  age.  In 
1775  he  went  over  to  Lexington  on  horseback,  with 
his  gun  on  his  shoulder  and  his  full-bottomed  wig  on 
his  head.  He  was  a  “  Son  of  Liberty,”  and  stood 
ready  to  prove  his  faith  by  his  works.  In  1777  he 
went  as  chaplain  in  the  frigate  Hancock ,  Captain 
Manly,  was  captured  by  the  frigate  Hose,  and  sent  to 
Halifax,  where,  in  prison,  he  had  the  small-pox. 
This  so  weakened  his  already  feeble  constitution 
that  he  died  two  or  three  years  after  his  release,  at 
the  age  of  forty-eight. 

His  second  son  came  to  Boston  when  about  sixteen 
years  old,  and  boarded  with  a  man  who  was  inter¬ 
ested  in  navigation,  an  illiterate  man,  but  with  busi¬ 
ness  enough  to  justify  his  keeping  a  clerk.  From 
this  clerk  the  boy  learned  book-keeping.  Shortly 
after  coming  of  age  he  engaged  himself  as  secretary 
in  the  insurance  office  of  Mr.  J.  H.,  at  the  tavern 
called  the  “  Bunch  of  Grapes,”  on  the  corner  of 
State  and  Kilby  streets.  Mr.  H.  was  an  old  man, 
and  had  not  been  fortunate.  At  the  expiration  of  a 
twelvemonth  he  was  advised  to  give  up  his  business 
to  his  energetic,  long-sighted  clerk.  This  he  did  in 
July,  1789.  At  this  period  there  was  little  doing  in 
insurance  anywhere,  and  particularly  in  Mr.  H.’s 
office,  but  it  soon  began  to  revive  under  the  new 


THE  UNITARIAN  LA  YMAN. 


97 


management.  By  and  by  the  French  Revolution 
came,  and  the  war  between  England  and  France ; 
commerce  increased  immensely  ;  premiums  went  up  ; 
so  that  from  1793  to  1803,  the  year  of  the  peace  of 
Amiens,  the  young  man,  who  was  nowT  thirty -six 
years  old,  with  a  wife  (for  he  was  married  in  1792), 
was  busily  and  profitably  employed.  To  be  sure, 
he  had  good  fortune  and  excellent  friends,  but  the 
first  was  due  largely  to  his  sagacity,  and  the  latter 
to  his  integrity.  He  was  known  to  be  capable, 
exact,  prompt,  and  honorable.  Mr.  Samuel  Brown, 
a  bachelor,  of  great  ability  and  uprightness,  much 
respected  and  consulted,  warmly  befriended  him, 
gave  him  counsel,  lent  him  money.  The  funding 
system  and  the  national  bank  attracted  speculation 
in  1791.  Mr.  Brown  did  not  personally  embark  in 
these  schemes,  but  he  advised  his  young  friend  to 
invest,  and  became  his  surety  for  any  amount.  The 
issue  was  successful.  Mr.  Brooks  made  money,  as 
he  said  himself,  “hand  over  hand.”  In  1803  he 
quitted  the  private  insurance  business,  handing  it 
over,  in  his  turn,  to  his  clerk.  This  was  the  era  of 
public  offices  of  insurance,  a  time  of  peace,  too, 
when  ventures  were  dull. 

The  interval  from  1803  to  1806  was  employed  in 
closing  up  the  affairs  of  the  office,  and,  inasmuch  as 
a  good  many  ventures  were  still  out,  this  had,  in  the 
majority  of  instances,  to  be  effected  by  a  compromise, 
the  accounts  of  underwriters  being  assumed ;  an  ad¬ 
mirable  plan  for  the  underwriters,  who  were  relieved 
7 


98 


BOSTON  UNIT  A  RIA  NISM. 


thereby  from  all  anxiety  on  account  of  risks ;  but,  as 
it  happened,  an  excellent  arrangement  for  him  too, 
as  matters  turned  out  well.  This,  in  fact,  was  the 
only  way  of  settlement,  unless  the  final  closing  of 
accounts  should  be  postponed  for  an  indefinite  period 
until  the  risks  had  expired. 

The  next  ten  years,  in  spite  of  the  arduous  duties 
laid  upon  the  President  of  the  New  England  Insur¬ 
ance  Company,  were  devoted  to  public  service  in  the 
Senate,  House,  and  Council-chamber  of  Massachu¬ 
setts,  in  course  of  which  his  good  sense,  business 
experience,  and  trained  judgment  proved  of  great 
value.  Ability  such  as  his  could  not  fail  to  be 
recognized  and  employed.  Money  begets  money. 
Success  guarantees  success.  He  who  can,  finds  op¬ 
portunities  waiting  for  him.  So  his  wealth  increased, 
his  influence,  his  honor  among  men. 

This  is  a  remarkable  record ;  remarkable  because 
unusual,  for  it  simply  illustrates  the  old,  old  truth 
that  industry,  judgment,  perseverance,  integrity, 
command  the  world.  In  1782  this  man  came  to 
Boston  without  a  dollar.  The  country  was  in  the 
depth  of  poverty.  It  was  the  last  year  of  the  war. 
In  January,  1783,  a  month  after  Mr.  Brooks  arrived, 
peace  with  England  was  proclaimed  in  State  Street, 
but  every  thing  had  to  be  adjusted.  This  condition 
of  affairs,  which  must  have  been  an  ordinary  man’s 
discouragement,  was  his  opportunity.  I  must  quote 
his  own  words  here  : 

Having  kept  books  by  double  entry  ever  since  I  had  any 


THE  UNITARIAN  LA  YMAN. 


99 


money  to  open  them  with,  it  is  amusing  to  mark  my  progress. 
I  have  had  the  curiosity  to  note  down,  not  only  the  progress  I 
have  made  as  to  property,  but  my  state  of  feeling  at  the  end  of 
many  of  the  years.  My  ledger  A  I  opened  January  7,  1788, 
when  I  was  twenty-one.  I  had  laid  up  a  little  by  small  adven¬ 
tures  ;  my  stock  was  £51,  i6j-.,  iod.,  about  $170.  In  Septem¬ 
ber  1,  1789,  it  was  increased  ^£380,  12s.,  2d.,  between  $1,200 
and  $1,300.  So  steady  was  my  good  fortune.  I  believe  that 
every  year  of  my  life,  from  twenty-one,  found  me  richer,  and 
nearly  every  year  much  richer.  In  1792,  November  26th,  I 
was  married,  and  bought  a  house  for  1,000.  I  think  (but 
have  not  looked  to  see)  that  I  was  worth  then  about  $25,000, 
and  I  felt  rich,  not  so  much  from  having  that  sum,  as  from 
having  an  income  in  various  ways  that  gave  me-  perhaps 
annually  as  much  more.  I  have  indeed  been  a  fortunate  man. 

True,  he  inherited  an  excellent  constitution.  He 
very  seldom  lost  a  day  from  ill-health.  But,  then, 
he  took  pains  to  preserve  it  by  temperance  in  eating 
and  drinking,  regularity  of  hours,  simplicity  of 
living,  exercise  in  the  open  air,  the  cultivation  of 
natural  tastes,  farming,  gardening,  exhilarating  pleas¬ 
ures,  sound  sleep,  and  early  rising. 

He  had  the  best  of  friends,  but  he  deserved  them. 
They  were  earned  by  his  fidelity,  and  kept  by  his 
constancy.  His  exactness,  his  promptitude,  his 
punctiliousness  in  detail,  his  honorableness,  his 
urbanity  engaged  confidence.  He  could  not  give 
occasion  of  offence.  It  is  remarkable  that  he  had  but 
one  lawsuit,  and  that  was  brought  by  some  misguided 
heirs  of  an  old  associate,  and  in  spite  of  a  generous 
concession  on  his  part.  Of  course  he  won  the  suit, 
notwithstanding  the  efforts  of  distinguished  counsel, 


IOO 


BOSTON  UNI TA RTA NISM. 


wlio  could  not  contest  tlie  equity  of  his  arrange¬ 
ments  or  the  clearness  of  his  figures. 

The  heirs  did  not  pretend  to  question  the  accuracy  of  my 
accounts.  After  searching  them  with  the  closest  scrutiny,  and 
having  every  book  before  them  for  years,  no  mistake  was  found. 

A  singular  feature  of  this  case,  and  one  that  shows 
the  innocency  of  dealing  in  those  old  days,  was  the 
dismissal  by  the  court  of  a  claim  for  interest  on  a 
large  amount  for  many  years.  “  I  had  never  paid 
interest  to  anybody  in  my  life,”  he  says,  “  and  in  this 

case,  if  Mr.  H - himself  had  ever  intimated  such 

a  thing  to  me,  I  would  not  have  kept  his  money  a 
moment.  The  court  decided  that  I  should  not  be 
made  to  pay  any.”  The  case  lasted  four  years,  and 
was  a  chancery  suit,  where  every  thing  was  dis¬ 
closed.  It  was  gained  by  sheer  force  of  personal 
accuracy  and  straightforwardness  of  dealing.  There 
was  no  attempt  at  prevarication  ;  there  was  no  desire 
to  prevaricate. 

There  were  no  wasting  sorrows  in  this  life.  The 
father  died  in  1781  ;  the  mother  in  1800.  She  was 
an  excellent  manager,  with  courage  to  bear  the  ills 
of  fortune,  and  with  the  pride  that  is  a  virtue.  She 
taught  her  children  to  hold  their  own,  and  to  be 
contented.  His  married  estate  was  happy.  His 
wife  had  a  fund  of  spirits,  was  amiable,  social,  and 
discharged  her  various  duties  for  forty  years.  There 
were  thirteen  children,  seven  of  whom  survived  him ; 
intelligent,  accomplished,  able,  competent  men  and 


THE  UNITARIAN  LA  YMAN. 


IOI 


women.  The  death  of  those  he  lost  gave  him  acute 
pain,  but  he  was  no  longer  struggling  or  anxious, 
and  could  bring  an  undiminished  fortitude  to  bear 
on  his  grief.  Wounds  heal  soon  in  a  healthy  nature. 

He  joined  the  church,  and  was  a  consistent  church 
member.  He  was  not  effusive,  demonstrative,  or 
loud-voiced.  His  name  did  not  stand  high  on  church 
lists  or  among  the  patrons  of  the  faith.  His  was 
the  calm,  rational,  sober  belief  of  the  thoughtful, 
educated,  honorable  men  of  his  day, — men  like 
Lemuel  Shaw,  Joseph  Story,  Daniel  A.  White, — in¬ 
tellectual,  noble  people,  with  worthy  aims,  a  lofty 
sense  of  duty,  a  strong  conviction  of  the  essential 
truths  of  revealed  Christianity  ;  sincere  believers  in 
the  Gospel,  of  enduring  principle,  of  pure,  consistent, 
blameless  life  and  conduct.  Speculative  theology  he 
cared  little  or  nothing  about.  He  was  no  disputant, 
no  doubter,  no  casuist ;  of  the  heights  of  mysticism 
of  the  depths  of  infidelity,  he  knew  nothing.  He 
was  conservative  of  course,  from  temperament  rather 
than  from  inquiry.  He  took  the  literal,  prose  view 
of  Calvinism,  and  rejected  doctrines  which  did  not 
commend  themselves  to  his  common-sense.  In 
a  word  he  was  a  Unitarian  of  the  old  school.  Dr. 
Channing  he  took  no  interest  in,  and  less  than  none 
in  Theodore  Parker.  Emerson  on  the  one  side  and 
Abner  Kneeland  on  the  other  were  about  equally  far 
from  his  sympathies.  He  was  no  philosopher.  He 
was  no  reformer.  Political  preaching  was  his  aver¬ 
sion  ;  and  by  political  preaching  he  meant  any  kind 


102 


BOSTON  UNIT  A  RIA  NISM. 


of  preaching  that  dealt  with  subjects  in  party  dis¬ 
pute.  But  he  went  to  meeting  constantly,  and  was 
always  in  his  pew  on  Thanksgiving  and  Fast  days. 
He  supported  the  Gospel  faithfully  in  town  or  in  the 
country ;  respected  ministers ;  honored  the  Sabbath. 
He  loved  plain,  direct  sermons,  addressed  to  the 
heart  and  conscience.  He  heard  R.  W.  Emerson. 
James  Walker,  F.  H.  Hedge,  William  H.  Furness, 
Henry  Ware,  Jr.,  but  he  praised  much  George  Put¬ 
nam,  and  E.  S.  Gannett,  liking  power  that  did  not 
run  to  enthusiasm.  But  anybody  who  wore  “  the 
cloth  ”  he  accepted  in  silence  wdien  he  could  not  ap¬ 
plaud.  I  find  this  entry  made  when  he  was  thirty- 
four  years  old,  and  not  rich  : 

Paid  Samuel  Elliot,  Esq.,  President  of  the  Trans.  Cong. 
Charitable  Society,  $50  towards  raising  a  fund  for  the  support 
of  the  families  of  deceased  clergymen.  I  cannot  but  wish  my 
worthy  mother  alive,  to  witness  my  respect  in  this  small  act 
for  that  deserving  order  of  men.  She  had  their  welfare  much 
at  heart. 

This  may  look  like  more  consideration  for  his 
mother  than  for  the  clergy,  but  to  the  end  of  his  life 
he  preserved  this  old  regard,  even  under  what  must 
to  him  have  been  difficulties  of  a  pretty  serious 
nature,  for  he  was  compelled  to  hear  a  good  deal  of 
anti-slavery  doctrine  from  his  country  minister. 
But  he  said  little  about  this,  or  indeed  about  any 
thing  connected  with  religion.  His  allusions  to  that 
subject  were  few.  His  concerns  were  with  this 
world  ;  and  the  reality  of  the  other,  though  regarded 


THE  UNITARIAN  LA  YMAN. 


103 


by  him,  must  mingle  with  his  daily  affairs  if  it  was 
to  be  felt.  There  was  no  inconsist ency,  no  break, 
only  the  one  was  tangible,  the  other  intangible.  His 
was  a  strong  nature,  which  absorbed  what  it  could, 
and  took  the  rest  on  trust,  saying  nothing  about  it. 
In  God,  immortality,  providence,  he  had  implicit 
faith,  all  the  more  that  he  was  so  silent  and  reserved 
even  in  his  own  mind.  He  would  not  commit  him¬ 
self  rashly  to  his  private  record.  On  one  occasion, 
when  a  relative  came  near  losing  his  life  by  stepping 
on  the  dock  too  soon  from  a  ferry-boat,  he  ventured 
to  call  the  deliverance  providential,  as  if,  in  ordinary 
cases,  that  term  ought  not  to  be  applied.  Super¬ 
natural  interference  with  the  customary  laws  that 
regulated  the  world  was  not  to  be  familiarly  wel¬ 
comed.  It  was  there  in  heaven,  but  of  its  action  he 
knew  nothing,  and  had  no  opinion.  If  others  had 
convictions,  he  was  glad  of  it,  but  such  thoughts  as 
he  had  he  preferred  to  keep  to  himself. 

The  feeling  of  dependence  on  an  Almighty  Power, 
of  gratitude  to  a  Beneficent  Giver,  is  repeated  every 
year,  as  he  reviews  the  past,  and  presents  to  his 
mind  a  remembrance  of  good-fortune.  The  obliga¬ 
tion  to  be  just  and  generous,  to  consider  those  who 
were  less  favored,  to  be  humble,  modest,  charitable,  is 
perpetually  before  him,  and  always  with  some  allusion 
to  his  indebtedness  to  the  Supreme  Goodness,  ac¬ 
companied  in  many  instances  by  expressions  of  self¬ 
accusation.  It  is  evident  that  the  thought  of  God 
had  much  to  do  with  his  liberality.  The  following 
extracts  are  interesting  on  this  point : 


104 


BOSTON  UNI TA RIA N ISM. 


I  have  one  satisfaction  in  looking  over  the  year,  besides  the 
common  one  of  growing  rich,  and  that  is  the  evidence  of 
having  given  away  a  little  more  than  I  have  sometimes  done. 
In  this,  however,  I  have  much  to  learn.  One  of  the  best 
expressions  of  gratitude  to  God  is  to  give  to  the  helpless  and 
the  needy.  However  meritorious  we  may  be  in  the  care  of  our 
own  families  and  habits,  so  long  as  we  are  wanting  in  charity 
to  the  distressed,  our  work  is  but  half  done.  How  is  it,  then, 
if  I  know  so  well  what  is  right,  that  I  no  more  regard  it  ?  I 
know  of  no  other  reply  that  can  be  made  to  this  question  than 
this  :  that  those  who  have  been  spending  a  life  to  get  money, 
and  know  the  difficulty  both  of  getting  it  and  being  without  it, 
place  too  high  a  value  upon  it,  and  cannot  bring  themselves, 
at  once,  to  part  with  it  so  easily  as  those  who  were  born  with 
money,  and  whose  knowledge  leads  to  a  more  reasonable 
estimate  ;  who  view  it  rather  as  a  means  than  an  end.  With 
rich  men  it  seems  to  be  the  object,  not  to  stop  when  they  have 
enough  to  afford  all  the  means  of  enjoyment,  but  to  make  every 
exertion  to  add  more  while  they  fall  short  of  any  of  their 
friends.  The  race,  therefore,  has  no  goal.  Is  this  best  or  not? 
It  is  a  question  not  easy  to  solve.  Without  a  stimulus  we  are 
idle,  and  to  be  idle  is  generally  to  be  more  or  less  vicious. 

I  am  worth  enough  to  call  forth  my  sincere  expressions  of 
gratitude,  and  to  excite  a  strong  desire  to  impart  to  others  a 
portion  of  my  abundance.  I  regret  that  I  have  no  greater 
share  of  such  feelings.  That  I  am  wanting  in  them,  I  am 
obliged  to  confess.  Money  rarely  makes  us  better. 

Evidently  this  man  was  not  munificent  by  tempera¬ 
ment.  The  more  does  such  munificence  as  he  had, 
attest  his  faith.  This  is  one  of  the  offices  of  a  sim¬ 
ple,  unadorned  religion,  to  graft  on  the  heart  virtues 
that  would  not  otherwise  be  exhibited.  It  is  a  kind 
of  enforced  idealism,  imposing  qualities  the  intrinsic 
beauty  of  which  might  not  be  seen  ;  and  thus  main- 


THE  UNITARIAN  LA  YMAN. 


105 


taining  a  high  standard  of  character  quite  in  advance 
of  spiritual  growth.  Eventually,  far  off  in  the 
future,  the  time  may  arrive  when  souls  will,  of  their 
own  accord,  gravitate  towards  a  large,  noble,  self- 
forgetting  humanity.  But  until  that  day  dawns,  the 
ancient  law  of  duty  will  be  in  force,  and  the  Com¬ 
mandments  will  be  more  potent  than  the  Beatitudes. 

It  must  be  confessed  that  our  friend  was  not  one 
of  the  open-handed,  sunny,  exuberant  men.  He  did 
not  belong  to  the  family  of  the  “  Cheeribles.”  As  it 
was,  there  was  more  of  pity  for  individual  misfor¬ 
tune  than  of  sympathy  with  general  misery, An  his 
composition.  All  the  more  credit  to  him  that  he 
remembered  the  poor,  the  unfortunate,  the  sorrowful. 
It  must  be  borne  in  mind  that  he  became  more  gen¬ 
erous  as  he  became  more  rich,  which  is  not  the 
ordinary  rule;  that  he  was  not  rude  or  sour;  that  he 
gave  liberally  when  he  thought  the  public  interest 
would  be  advanced  ;  that  he  gave  to  institutions  of 
learning  and  science.  His  family  affections  were 
exceedingly  strong.  He  had  no  dislike  of  poor  rela¬ 
tions  ;  on  the  contrary,  he  was  glad  to  help  them, 
and  was  proud  of  their  good  conduct.  There  are 
many  evidences  of  his  kindnesses  to  his  cousins  and 
nieces,  to  those  who  were  bound  up  in  the  same 
bundle  of  life ;  to  those  who  had  served  him,  or 
been  good  to  him.  A  few  of  these  have  been  se¬ 
lected  as  illustrating  this  phase  of  his  disposition,  an 
unusual  trait,  that  is  more  common  in  a  simple  than 
in  a  complicated  condition  of  society ;  more  usual  once 


10 6  BOSTON  UNI TA RIA N ISM. 

than  now.  His  attachment  to  brute  beasts  is  very 
striking.  His  compassion  for  mere  poverty  was  not 
profuse.  Possibly  he  feared  deception.  Perhaps  he 
needed  to  be  approached  through  his  personal  feel¬ 
ings.  At  all  events,  there  was  no  lack  of  generosity 
when  these  were  touched,  and  that  these  were 
touched  often  there  is  evidence  enough.  Such  en¬ 
tries  as  these  are  frequent : 

Presented  to  the  family  of  the  late  Col.  W — ,  who  was  an 
officer  in  our  Revolution,  and  who  left  his  family  poor  and  two 
of  his  daughters  deaf  and  dumb,  $100.  .  .  . 

For  a  present,  made  to  a  young  Doctor  P — ,  who  is 
about  to  settle  at  Vassalboro’,  a  most  deserving  young  man 
but  not  rich.  .  .  . 

Subscribed  $2,000.  for  the  relief  of  the  starving  poor  in 
Ireland,  caused  by  the  failure  of  their  potato  crop  for  two 
years  past.  These  poor  wretches  are  stated  as  dying,  in  great 
numbers,  of  hunger.  .  .  . 

For  a  subscription  to  the  sufferers  by  fire  at  Fall  River, 
$300.  .  .  . 

To  Purser  Rogers,  to  aid  the  friends  of  the  crew  of  the 
Grampus ,  sloop-of-war,  young  Captain  Downes,  lost  at  sea, 
$100.  .  .  . 

To  a  poor  man  named  Wheeler,  who  saved  a  young  woman, 
a  Miss  Graves,  a  teacher,  from  drowning  at  the  Locks  in 
Medford,  at  the  hazard  of  his  life,  $30.  .  .  . 

For  $150.  which  I  have  done  myself  the  pleasure  of  giving 
a  kinswoman  on  her  being  married.  .  .  . 

Mrs.  C —  G —  is  dead.  This  worthy  old  lady  (75)  was  un¬ 
able  to  support  herself,  being  without  property  and  very  lame. 
She  had  seen  better  days.  For  six  years  past  I  have  contrib¬ 
uted  $1  a  week.  Others  have  done  the  like  or  more.  .  .  . 

On  January  1,  1806,  I  leased  store  No.  55  to  Mr.  J.  D.,  for 
seven  years,  at  $1,600.,  a  year,  having  his  father  as  a  surety. 


THE  UNITARIAN  LA  YMAN. 


107 


'Three  years,  or  a  little  more,  have  passed  within  which  time 
J —  has  failed  in  business  ;  and  having  a  particular  friendship 
for  Mr.  D — ,  who  has  been  made  very  unhappy  by  the  failure 
of  his  son,  I  have  given  up  the  lease  and  let  the  store  anew  for 
$1,400.,  making  a  clear  loss  to  me  of  about  $800.  .  .  . 

For  this  sum,  L  1706.  63  s.,  being  what  he  owes  me,  and 
which  I  have  this  day  made  him  a  present  of,  and  given  him  a 
receipt  in  full  for,  in  consideration  of  the  love  I  bear  him,  and 
of  his  having  been  unfortunate.  .  .  . 

Paid  Dr.  J —  W — ,  professor,  to  aid  in  his  cabinet  of 
minerals,  Cambridge,  $50.  .  .  . 

Mr.  B —  does  himself  the  pleasure  to  enclose  to  Mrs.  T — 
her  note  for  $78,  and  to  ask  her  acceptance  of  it.  He  is  happy 
in  giving  this  small  testimony  of  his  respect  for  her,  omvarious 
accounts,  but  especially  as  being  the  mother  of  a  young  man 
whose  amiable  manners  and  many  virtues  he  shall  ever  hold  in 
fond  remembrance.  .  .  . 

We,  this  day,  came  into  the  house  formerly  owned  by  Mr. 
T — B — ,  who  has  been  so  unfortunate  as  to  become  a  bank¬ 
rupt.  The  house  was  mortgaged  to  me  for  its  value,  and  in 
the  sale  of  the  equity  of  redemption  I  had  no  competition. 
Our  going  into  it  therefore  is  rather  a  thing  of  necessity.  But 
it  is  an  excellent  house,  and  we  shall  be  charmed  with  it,  but 
for  the  disagreeable  circumstance  of  obliging  our  friend  B — 
to  give  it  up.  We  recognize,  with  gratitude,  the  happiness  we 
have  enjoyed  the  past  summer.  No  one  circumstance  seems 
to  have  occurred  to  render  it  unpleasant.  We  have  both  been 
well  with  our  six  children,  my  business  has  been  pleasant  to 
me,  the  season  has  been  uncommonly  fine,  and  our  friends  all 
about  us  seem  to  have  shared  with  us  in  these  great  blessings. 
Seasons  of  enjoyment  so  uninterrupted  are  unusual,  and  we 
cannot  expect  a  continuance  of  them.  But  should  they  be 
afforded  us,  I  hope  we  shall  receive  them  with  grateful  hearts, 
and  remember  that  one  of  our  leading  duties  and  employments 
under  the  smiles  of  Providence  is  “  to  do  good  and  to  com¬ 
municate.”  .  .  . 


io8 


BOSTON  UNIT  A  RIA  N ISM. 


The  truth  is  that  in  putting  him  into  this  house  my  inten¬ 
tion  was  to  render  the  residue  of  his  life  a  little  more  comfort¬ 
able  in  this  regard  than  it  has  been  for  some  time  past ;  for  he 
has  been  obliged,  for  a  long  time,  to  make  a  remove  about 
every  six  months.  And  should  I  meet  with  no  misfortune,  my 
design  is  not  to  charge  him  with  house  rent  during  his  life.  I 
hope  I  shall  be  able  to  support  so  good  a  resolution.  To  think 
that  I  can,  derives  to  me  a  most  sensible  pleasure,  for  I  feel 
that  my  present  situation  has  been  owing  to  Mr.  H — in  a  con¬ 
siderable  degree,  and  I  should  be  wanting  in  common  gratitude 
not  to  recognize  it  now  that  he  is  old  and  needy.  It  affords 
me  pleasure  that  I  have  heretofore  assisted  him,  and  that  I 
still  feel  a  disposition  to  do  it.  It  would  have  been  better  had 
I  done  this  before  ;  but  I  could  not  find  a  house,  and  to  make 
up  for  it  I  have,  with  Mr.  Stephen  Gorham,  paid  his  house  rent 
for  more  than  twelve  months  past.  .  .  . 

I  have  concluded  to  charge  no  interest,  nor  any  thing,  for 
my  services  as  executor,  for  a  period  of  nearly  six  years.  This 
trust  has  necessarily  caused  me  much  care,  but  it  was  my 
determination,  from  the  first,  to  receive  no  compensation  but 
the  pleasure  of  serving  the  worthy  family  of  a  friend  whom  I 
highly  esteemed.  This  service  is  among  those  intended  to 
benefit  my  friends,  and  I  trust  I  shall  reflect  upon  it  always 
with  the  pleasure  which  generally  arises  from  an  attempt  to  do 
good.  .  .  . 

If  my  accumulations  do  not  sound  so  great  as  in  some 
former  years,  I  have  the  pleasure  to  reflect  that  it  is  owing, 
principally,  not  to  my  having  made  less,  but  to  my  having  given 
away  more.  .  .  . 

Dear  Sir  : — Inclosed  will  be  my  check  for  $100.  which  I 
have  the  pleasure  of  offering  in  aid  of  the  funds  of  the  Con¬ 
gregational  Charitable  Society.  Geo.  Ticknor,  Esq.,  Secretary. 

For  a  donation  to  Harvard  College,  $10,000.  .  .  . 

For  a  present  made  to  the  Athenaeum,  with  a  view  to 
enriching  the  library,  and  embellishing  that  favorite  establish¬ 
ment,  $1,000.  .  .  . 


THE  UNITARIAN  LA  YMAN. 


109 


Contributed  towards  the  Agriculture  Hall,  Brighton,  $  100. .  . 

Boston,  July  15,  1818.  Dear  Sir  : — Inclosed  will  be  found 
my  check  on  the  Boston  Bank  for  $200.  My  wish  is  that  this 
sum  should  be  added  to  the  permanent  fund  of  the  Massa¬ 
chusetts  Charitable  Congregational  Society.  But  should  it  be 
thought  better,  by  those  who  have  the  management  of  its 
pecuniary  concerns,  to  dispose  of  it  in  any  other  way,  you  have 
my  consent.  .  .  . 

This  sum,  $400.  I  make  a  present  of  to  my  kinsman,  from 
the  great  regard  I  have  for  him,  and  because  he  is  not  rich.  .  . 

Medford,  July  20,  1819.  Dear  Cousin  : — I  have  under¬ 
stood  from  one  of  your  friends,  that  you  are  in  doubt  whether 
to  receive  the  college  prize  in  a  medal  or  in  money,  assigning 
as  a  reason  that  you  want  the  money  to  purchase  books.  Con¬ 
sidering  you  as  richly  deserving  both  the  one  and  the  other,  I 
have  great  pleasure  in  sending  you  the  enclosed  $30,  and  in 
congratulating  you  and  your  friends,  on  this  honorable  testi¬ 
monial  of  merit  from  the  first  University  in  our  country.  .  .  . 

The  amount  now  standing  in  my  books  against  my  brother- 
in-law,  is  $20,000.  and  this  is  the  exact  sum  he  owes  me.  I 
have  collateral  security  on  his  farm,  his  house,  and  his  distillery, 
and  whenever  he  pays  me  the  said  $20,000.  with  interest  from 
the  first  day  of  April,  1810,  I  am  to  give  up  all  these  securities. 
I  say  “interest  from  April  1st,”  because  I  this  day  consented 
to  give  to  him  all  the  back  interest,  out  of  affection  to  him  and 
his  wife,  and  to  encourage  him  in  business.  He  has  been 
unfortunate,  but  is  now  doing  well.  I  have  no  doubt  he  will 
be  a  man  of  handsome  property  should  his  health  be  spared. 
And  he  is  so  good  a  man  I  cannot  describe  the  pleasure  I  take 
in  obliging  him.  It  is  now  understood  between  us  that  he  will 
pay  me  the  interest  on  the  $20,000.  quarterly  ;  and  I  have,  this 
day,  written  him  a  letter,  which  I  consider  as  binding  on  me, 
certifying  that  the  interest  is  all  settled  up  to  the  1st  of  April, 
and  that  the  principal  is  but  $20,000.  The  interest  which  I 
have  given  up  to  him  is  about  $4,440.  .  .  . 

How  happy  I  ought  to  feel  that  I  have  made  it  in  my  power 


I IO 


BOSTON  UNIT  A  RIA  NISM. 


to  do  an  act  of  kindness  to  this  magnitude  ($6,997.50),  to  an 
affectionate  sister  who,  I  am  sure,  would,  in  an  exchange  of 
conditions,  have  done  as  much,  and  even  more,  for  me  !  .  .  . 

For  a  balance  of  a  kinswoman’s  account  which  I  have  this 
day  made  her  a  present  of,  agreeably  to  my  letter  of  this  date, 
which  I  have  requested  her  to  consider  as  a  receipt  in  full, 

$557.52-  •  •  • 

Dear  Cousin  : — As  a  small  testimonial  of  my  regard,  I  ask 
your  acceptance  of  the  sum  inclosed  ;  and  I  propose  to  myself 
the  pleasure  of  sending  you  a  like  sum  once  a  quarter,  for 
twelve  months.  Should  you,  my  cousin,  be  as  much  gratified 
in  receiving  this  little  present  as  I  am  in  making  it,  my  purpose 
will  be  fully  answered.  I  am,  very  truly,  etc.  .  .  . 

These  extracts  will  prove  that  this  man  did  not 
live  for  himself  alone,  did  not  live  for  pleasure  or 
distinction.  And  if  his  gifts  do  not  seem  large  when 
measured  by  the  criterion  of  to-day,  or  by  his  own 
means,  they  were  fully  as  great  as  the  habit  of  the 
time  warranted.  It  was  a  frugal  age.  There  was  no 
interpretation  of  charity  but  almsgiving,  and  that 
was  mainly  private.  The  idea  of  humanity  as  a 
whole,  and  of  the  individual’s  relation  to  it,  was  un¬ 
familiar.  But  the  notion  that  one  might  grind  his 
neighbors,  or  make  dishonest  gain  from  them,  or  be 
indifferent  to  their  condition,  was  forbidden  both  by 
the  Old  and  New  Testaments,  and  though  the  circle 
was  limited  in  extent,  care  was  taken  that  it  should 
not  be  empty.  The  present  view  is  broader,  but  it 
may  be  doubted  whether  conduct  more  noble  com¬ 
plies  with  the  demand  for  good-will.  Fortunes  too 
are  much  ampler  than  they  used  to  be,  and  the  sum, 
though  smaller,  may  be  as  large  in  proportion  as  it 


THE  UNITARIAN  LA  YMAN. 


Ill 


is  now.  The  smaller  donations  were  not  given  out 
of  an  abundance,  and  the  number  of  them  was  con¬ 
siderable. 

For  several  years  Mr.  Brooks  served  the  State  in 
the  Senate  and  the  House  of  Representatives.  He 
did  not  relish  political  life,  and  at  the  close  of  each 
session  resolved  to  leave  it.  His  scruples  are  ex¬ 
plained  in  the  extracts  that  follow. 

This  day  ended  the  last  session  of  my  political  year  as  a 
Senator.  I  still  say,  as  I  did  the  last  year,  that  I  shall  decline 
another  election,  if  I  am  thought  of,  not  because  I  should  not 
be  pleased  with  it  if  I  had  the  necessary  education,  but  be¬ 
cause  it  prevents  the  choice  of  a  much  more  proper  man.  I 
confess  the  office  has  pleased  me,  because  it  has  proved  the 
means  of  some  useful  knowledge  and  may  be  considered  as  an 
honor  conferred  upon  me,  which  never  fails  to  be  grateful. 
But,  on  the  other  hand,  it  is  a  place  which  I  cannot  fill  with¬ 
out  feeling  my  inferiority  in  point  of  talent,  of  information, 
and  of  influence.  After  all  the  peculiar  state  of  parties  may 
induce  a  request  to  go  again,  and  my  acceptance.  I  can  freely 
say,  however,  that  I  had  rather  decline.  .  .  . 

This  day  ends  the  fourth  of  my  political  life.  It  has  been 
passed  more  pleasantly,  on  the  whole,  than  any  former  one. 
Perhaps  every  year  may  render  it  more  and  more  agreeable. 
But  this,  instead  of  operating  as  a  reason  for  wishing  to  be 
elected  again,  ought  to  decide  me  at  once  to  break  off ;  for  at 
this  moment  I  am  free  to  confess,  however  agreeably  I  have 
spent  my  time,  that  I  had  much  rather  stay  away  than  go  again. 
This,  however,  I  may  not  be  able  always  to  say,  and  by  and  by 
I  may  be  left  out  by  my  fellow  citizens,  much  to  my  mortifica¬ 
tion.  I  am  determined,  therefore,  to  decline  standing  a  candi¬ 
date  another  year.  I  have  indeed  a  hundred  reasons,  almost, 
why  I  should  not  be  a  member  of  the  Legislature.  I  have  not 
the  education  for  it.  I  have  no  taste  for  it.  I  am  not  a  violent 


I  12 


BOSTON  UNITA RIA NISM. 


party  man.  I  have  numerous  calls  on  my  time  which  do  not 
leave  me  a  moment’s  leisure,  but  drive  me  on  faster  than  com¬ 
ports  with  my  ease  and  comfort.  But  more  than  all  this,  I  feel 
myself  to  be  in  the  place  of  a  better  man.  More  than  twenty 
in  the  town  have,  in  every  view,  much  greater  pretensions  than 
I  have,  and  to  whom  I  believe  it  would  be  more  grateful.  .  .  . 

I  am  brought  to  the  close  of  another  political  year,  com-' 
pleting  five  periods  as  Senator  in  the  General  Court.  Last 
year  on  this  occasion  I  noted  down  that  I  should  decline 
another  election.  Some  unexpected  incident  prevented  my 
adhering  to  the  resolution.  I  now  repeat  the  declaration  that 
I  mean  not  to  be  a  candidate  again.  Parties  are  so  equal,  how¬ 
ever,  and  the  difficulty  of  changing  so  great,  that  I  am  not 
certain  of  having  my  inclination  gratified.  When  I  say  it  is  my 
wish  not  to  go  again,  it  is  not  because  it  gives  me  no  pleasure  ; 
for  I  have  been  treated  with  great  courtesy,  and  more  respect 
than,  as  a  politician,  I  deserve.  But  I  am  not  fitted  for  the 
place.  It  belongs  to  others.  Others  ought  to  have  it.  It 
would  please  them,  perhaps,  more  than  it  does  me.  I  have  no 
time  to  spare,  while  others  have.  I  want  to  spend  a  little  time, 
too,  in  journeying,  which  could  best  be  done  while  the  Court  is 
sitting.  Another  thing  is  that,  in  my  mind,  the  honor  is  not 
very  great.  The  best  men  in  these  times  are  not  in  place — 
certainly  not  on  one  side.  Men  are  chosen  for  politicians  who 
like  myself,  are  too  ignorant  to  undertake  anything  of  the  kind. 
Some  of  our  best  men  stand  aloof.  .  .  . 

On  Saturday,  the  29th  of  Feb.  ended  my  sixth  political 
year  as  a  Senator  from  Suffolk,  leaving  me  most  thoroughly 
sick  and  disgusted  with  democratic  legislation.  Where  the  re¬ 
sponsibility  is  divided  among  several  hundred  men,  they  are 
found  to  do  things  of  which  an  individual  would  be  ashamed. 

This  day  closes  my  seventh  political  year,  and  here  I  mean 
to  stop.  To  have  taken  any  part  in  politics,  as  a  member  of 
the  Legislature,  was  never  my  expectation,  and  I  think  I  may 
add,  with  truth,  it  was  never  my  inclination  ;  and,  although  I 
have  been  happy  in  it  as  any  man  could  be  in  times  like 


THE  UNITARIAN  LAYMAN.  I  1 3 

these,  yet  various  and  strong  reasons  now  occur  why  I  should 
from  this  time  decline.  I  have  been  a  Senator  seven  years, 
which  is  as  long,  perhaps,  as  any  man  ought  to  keep  in  one 
elective  place.  I  was  not  educated  for  a  politician,  and  there¬ 
fore  consider  myself,  whatever  others  may  think,  as  filling  a 
place  which  might  be  much  better  occupied  by  some  other 
man.  I  may,  if  I  continue,  become  fond  of  it,  and  then  should 
be  very  desirous  of  continuing,  and  mortified  if  dropped, 
whereas  I  can  quit  now  from  inclination.  This,  as  regards, 
my  personal  happiness  and  the  interest  of  my  family,  is  a  most 
important  consideration,  and,  if  I  may  judge  from  the  effect 
on  others,  ought,  of  itself,  to  determine  me.  Last  of  all,  it  is 
a  tax  on  my  time,  which  I  think,  considering  the  busy  life  I 
have  spent,  I  ought  no  longer  to  pay.  f 

The  General  Court  rose  yesterday,  after  a  session  of  near¬ 
ly  fifty  days.  For  the  first  time  in  my  life  I  served  this  year  as 
a  Representative  from  Boston,  and  I  believe  I  have  not  been 
absent  from  duty  a  single  day  of  either  session.  I  declined 
receiving  pay,  having  made  up  my  mind  to  that  at  the  time  of 
being  chosen.  On  the  whole,  I  have  been  as  much  gratified 
with  a  seat  in  the  House  as  I  ever  was  with  one  in  the  Council 
or  Senate.  They  all  have  afforded  me  pleasure,  though  I  have 
not  the  smallest  desire  to  engage  again. 

In  January,  1821,  he  was  appointed  by  the  Senate 
of  Massachusetts  chairman  of  a  committee  “to  ex¬ 
amine  generally  into  the  concerns  of  every  lottery 
now  in  operation  in  this  Commonwealth.”  They 
went  to  work  at  once,  and  reported  on  February 
9th.  The  chairman  enforced  the  conclusions  of  the 
report  in  a  clear,  direct,  convincing  speech,  which 
had  a  powerful  effect.  He  had  been  interested  him¬ 
self  in  lotteries  to  small  amounts.  I  find  half  a 

dozen  entries  of  sums  spent  in  the  purchase  of 

8 


BOSTON  UNI TA RIA N ISM. 


I  14 

lottery  tickets.  This  was  a  favorite  and,  it  was 
supposed,  an  innocent  way  of  raising  money  for  pub¬ 
lic  purposes.  It  had  been  resorted  to  by  individuals 
and  by  corporations  of  the  highest  respectability, 
and  without  hesitation,  for  the  furtherance  of  deserv¬ 
ing  enterprises,  such  as  the  construction  of  canals, 
the  building  of  bridges,  the  erection  of  college  edi¬ 
fices,  the  repair  of  beaches.  Tickets  for  lotteries  in 
other  States  were  freely  and  legally  sold  in  Massa¬ 
chusetts. 

It  was  a  species  of  charity,  and  was  so  regarded, 
not  a  means  of  making  money  without  working  for 
the  gain.  But  a  keen,  practised,  business  eye  saw  at 
once  that  it  was  a  ruinous  way  of  aiding  good  causes, 
and  the  result  of  examination  was  more  conclusive 
on  that  point  than  the  severest  critic  could  have 
supposed.  There  were  three  great  lotteries  in  the 
State,  the  Springfield  Bridge  Lottery,  the  Plymouth 
Beach  Lottery,  and  the  Union  Canal  Lottery.  The 
last,  its  term  having  expired,  applied  for  a  renewal 
of  its  charter;  attention  was  therefore  especially 
fixed  on  this.  It  appeared  that  tickets  of  all  classes 
had  been  sold  to  the  amount  of  $467,328.  There 
had  been  paid  in  prizes  $406,497.  Incidental  ex¬ 
penses  of  management  called  for  $39,988  ;  bad  debts 
were  estimated  at  $24,315;  interest  on  money  bor¬ 
rowed  to  pay  prizes,  the  sum  required  not  having 
been  raised,  was  charged  $2,763.  There  was  con¬ 
sequently  a  heavy  loss  to  the  canal,  and  the  buyers 
of  tickets  had,  instead  of  carrying  out  their  inten- 


THE  UNITARIAN  LA  YMAN.  1 1  5 

tion,  been  mulcted  about  half  a  million  of  dollars  ! 
.The  other  concerns  were  investigated  immediately 
after,  with  a  result  less  damaging,  indeed,  but  suffi¬ 
ciently  so  to  discourage  enterprises  of  this  kind. 
This  was  a  fatal  blow  to  the  official  recognition  of 
lotteries  in  Massachusetts.  It  was  more  than  ten 
years  later,  however,  1833,  before  the  sale  of  lottery 
tickets  was  forbidden,  except  of  those  that  were 
authorized  by  law.  Then  the  moral  question  was 
brought  directly  up  by  a  fatal  issue  attending  on 
this  sort  of  gambling.  For  gambling  it  had  become, 
a  device  for  growing  rich  by  some  turn  of  luck,  as 
one  stands  a  chance  of  amassing  sums  at  a  gaming¬ 
table,  risking  a  little  in  the  hope  of  drawing  in 
much.  For  this  appears  to  be  the  chief  difference 
between  gambling  and  other  ventures  largely  depen¬ 
dent  on  fortune.  Gambling  is  trust  in  chance  alone, 
with  the  smallest  admixture  of  skill,  calculation,  or 
sagacity,  whereas  these  rely  for  success  on  experience, 
ability,  industry,  and  foresight.  The  elements  of 
uncertainty  are  reduced  to  the  lowest  point  possible. 
A  perfectly  safe  business  is  one  that  rules  them 
out  altogether.  Pure  speculation  must  be  of  the 
nature  of  gambling,  and  all  that  saves  its  reputation 
is  the  human  genius  or  knowledge  or  assiduity 
that  in  the  main  accompany  its  triumphs.  These 
may  fail  to  ensure  victory.  Luck  may  go  against 
them ;  but  they  are  honorable  and  prevail,  whatever 
may  be  their  present  destiny.  In  1820,  in  Massachu¬ 
setts,  lotteries  were  not  looked  upon  as  a  form  of  busi- 


II 6  BOSTON  UNIT  A  RIA  N ISM. 

ness,  rather  as  a  form  of  beneficence.  There  was  no 
rage  for  them.  They  did  not  inflame  the  popular 
mind.  Their  improvidence  was  more  conspicuous 
than  their  turpitude.  The  greater  was  the  merit  of 
warning  against  them  for  the  welfare  of  society. 

His  interest  in  education,  in  temperance,  in  public 
institutions  of  beneficence,  is  abundantly  attested  by 
these  records.  The  following  entries  are  curious  as 
illustrating  the  kind  of  concern  an  individual  might 
take  in  every  thing  that  was  conducive  to  the 
enlightenment  of  a  community.  They  embrace  all 
subjects. 

On  the  28th  inst.  I  was  chosen  President  of  the  Massachu¬ 
setts  Congregational  Charitable  Society,  instead  of  Hon.  I. 
Thorndike,  deceased.  This  is  a  most  excellent  charity,  and 
less  liable  to  abuse  than  any  one,  almost.  Its  funds  amount 
to  nearly  $60,000,  the  income  of  which  is  given  to  the  widows 
and  children  of  deceased  Congregationalist  clergymen  in 
Massachusetts.  The  society  consists  of  thirty  members,  one 
half  clergymen  and  the  other  laymen.  .  .  . 

Visited  Rainsford  Island,  in  steamboat,  with  Board  of 
Health,  Governor,  etc.  A  most  delightful  day.  .  .  . 

Dined  at  Faneuil  Hall.  Examinations  of  the  schools. 
Schools  found  in  a  very  improving  state.  .  .  . 

Committee  visited  State  Prison  to  consider  the  expediency 

of  enlarging  its  bounds.  Present,  Mr.  B - ,  Mr.  W - ,  Mr. 

T - ,  Mr.  H - ;  absent,  Col.  J - .  .  .  . 

To  Hon.  Thos.  Cary,  to  aid  a  printing  press  in  Cincinnati 
to  oppose  slavery,  $100.  .  .  . 

Our  national  affairs  are  bad  enough.  We  have  waged  a 
most  wicked,  a  most  unjust,  a  most  unnecessary  war  with 
Mexico,  from  which  we  may  not  soon  come  out,  and  cannot 
without  a  vast  expense  of  blood  and  treasure.  By  all  judicious 


THE  UNITARIAH  LAYMAN.  1 1 7 

men  this  vile  contest  was  uncalled  for,  and  gives  the  adminis¬ 
tration  great  dishonor  and  disgrace.  .  .  . 

Towards  curing  drunkards,  $50.  I  hope  the  plan  will  suc¬ 
ceed,  but  have  my  doubts. 

It  appears  that  this  man  did  what  he  knew  would 
be  for  the  advantage  of  his  fellow-men,  even  though 
he  felt  no  particular  interest  in  it,  and  had  no  partic¬ 
ular  faith  in  it  himself.  He  was  not  a  sanguine 
person.  But  he  did  not  make  a  phlegmatic  disposi¬ 
tion  an  excuse  for  practical  indifference,  or  a  ground¬ 
work  for  contempt  of  others’  efforts,  but  would  lend 
a  hand,  if  he  could  not  lend  a  heart.  Such  a  nature  is 
not  uncommon,  but  we  do  not  often  see  such  conduct. 
Usually,  a  disposition  like  his,  practical,  without 
impulse,  enthusiasm,  or  imagination,  inclined  to 
skepticism  in  regard  to  human  motives,  goes  dog¬ 
gedly  on  its  way,  pushing  claims  aside,  letting  affairs 
run  along  in  their  own  way,  looking  out  for  the 
main  chance,  and  satisfied  if  it  can  keep  on  the 
prosperous  side. 

He  was  never  satisfied  with  himself,  felt  his 
responsibility,  thought  he  should  do  more,  and  threw 
out  his  crust  of  bread  with  a  sort  of  surly  good-will, 
as  if  he  recognized  more  duties  than  he  discharged. 
There  is  something  affecting  in  such  a  character, 
struggling,  as  it  were,  against  its  limitations,  with  the 
best  of  intentions,  but  with  a  feeble  faith,  having 
the  weal  of  the  community  in  mind,  but  painfully 
aware  that  it  could  effect  nothing  except  on  the  plane 
of  unideal  achievement,  where  alone  it  was  strong. 

/  O 


1 18 


BOSTON  UNIT  A  RIA  NISM. 


Mr.  Brooks  was  true  to  liimself,  sincere,  simple,  or¬ 
dering  his  life  according  to  his  own  ideas,  without 
regard  to  the  fashions  around  him. 

His  dress  cost  him  little.  His  table  was  plain, 
substantial,  bountiful.  There  was  always  wine  with 
the  meats.  He  rose  early  in  the  morning,  always 
went  out  in  summer  before  breakfast,  was  scrupulous 
about  his  private  habits,  kept  regular  hours,  and 
indulged  in  no  injurious  excitements.  His  tastes 
were  frugal,  his  wishes  easily  satisfied.  One  smiles 
to  think  how  little  was  sufficient  for  comfort  and 
happiness  in  those  days,  when  existence  was  unam¬ 
bitious  and  solid.  How  charmingly  innocent  all 
this  sounds  to-day,  when  people  are  so  full  of  pride 
and  emulation  ! 

I  may  deceive  myself,  but  I  think  I  am  worth  more  than 
$300,000.;  and  if  so,  there  is  more  danger  of  my  having  too 
much  than  too  little.  It  will  not  do  me  nor  my  family  more 
good,  perhaps,  if  so  much,  as  one-half  the  sum.  I  am  now 
thirty-six  years  old.  When  I  was  twenty-one  I  was  not  worth  one 
hundred  dollars  in  the  world,  excepting,  perhaps,  a  small  patri¬ 
mony.  How  the  residue  of  my  life  will  be  spent,  after  settling 
my  accounts,  I  cannot  at  present  pretend  to  decide.  Perhaps 
it  would  be  better  for  us  and  our  children  if  I  had  not  half  so 
much.  Few  can  behave  with  propriety  under  a  change  so 
sudden  and  considerable.  God  grant  that  I  may  be  one  of 
those  few  !  .  .  . 

Took  down  my  boathouse.  I  concluded,  years  ago,  not  to 
keep  a  boat  any  longer.  I  had  no  fondness  for  it  myself,  nor 
did  I  wish  my  children  to  have,  for  fear  of  accident,  and 
a  habit  of  idleness  ;  and  it  caused  a  great  deal  of  care.  All 
these  things  I  ought  to  have  considered  before  I  spent  the 
money.  I  was  in  error,  and  while  I  acknowledge  it  freely. 


THE  UNITARIAN  LA  YMAN. 


1 19 

I  wish  I  had  never  committed  a  greater.  The  boat,  like  a 
thousand  other  things,  disappointed  me.  I  thought  it  would 
afford  pleasure  to  us  and  our  friends,  but  it  did  neither.  .  .  . 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  W - on  a  visit  of  a  day  and  night.  Mr.  W - 

and  I  rode  over  to  Waltham  factory,  and  through  the  grounds 

of  Mr.  L - .  Highly  delighted  with  his  grounds,  and  less 

delighted  with  my  own. 

His  affections  were  natural.  He  loved  his  wife,  his 
children,  his  home,  his  friends,  and  took  an  interest 
in  what  concerned  them.  He  was  domestic,  kind, 
friendly,  in  an  unostentatious,  unaffected  manner. 
This  man  had  deep  roots.  He  was  affected  by  sen¬ 
timental  changes,  and  showed  his  emotion  by  his 
silence.  The  following  extracts  touch  the  heart  :  • 

Perhaps  there  never  was  a  family  who  agreed  better  than 
ours,  or  who  loved  each  other  more.  I  never  knew  the  time, 
for  a  single  moment,  that  either  the  mother  or  the  children 
were  estranged  from  each  other,  or  observed  the  least  coolness  : 
on  the  contrary,  there  was  always  exercised  the  utmost  affection 
and  tenderness.  .  .  . 

Had  it  not  been  for  the  untimely  loss  of  our  dear,  dear 
little  girl,  the  season  would  have  been  a  most  agreeable  one  ; 
but  this  loss  was  so  extremely  painful  as  to  deprive  us  of  all 
happiness.  .  .  . 

Since  that  time  we  have  been  called  upon  to  part  with  one 
of  our  dear  children,  and  that  in  a  way  of  all  others,  perhaps, 
the  most  afflictive.  Our  little  A.  B.,  aged  seventeen  months, 
one  of  the  most  lovely  babies  that  we  ever  had,  was  scalded  on 
one  of  her  arms  on  Monday  the  8th  of  June,  and  continued 
till  Tuesday  following,  the  16th,  when  she  died,  having  suf¬ 
fered  extremely  the  whole  time.  Had  this  dear  child  died 
from  ordinary  sickness,  we  should  have  felt  the  loss  most 
severely,  for  she  was  indeed  so  pretty  and  good  a  child,  and 


120 


BOSTON  UNIT  A  RIA  NISM. 


withal  so  healthy,  as  never  to  have  caused  her  parents  a  tear 
but  once  ;  but  to  be  taken  away  in  the  shocking  manner  she 
was,  was  almost  insupportable,  and  what  we  cannot  forget  for 
a  long  time.  .  . 

Poor  little  boy  !  while  reason  would  satisfy  us,  considering 
the  innocence  of  his  life,  and  our  religious  hopes,  that  it  is 
better  for  him,  and  we  ought  not  to  wish  him  back,  yet  passion 
and  feeling,  and  the  recollection  of  his  sufferings,  cannot  for  a 
long  time  be  overcome  or  reconcile  us  to  his  loss.  He  was 
indeed  a  lovely  boy,  and  it  cannot,  we  hope,  be  wrong  to 
mourn  for  him.  Does  it  make  any  difference  that  we  have 
many  children  left  ?  Oh,  no  !  .  .  . 

In  the  settlement  of  my  father’s  estate,  the  sons  had  twice 
as  much  as  the  daughters,  agreeably  to  the  will.  But  although 
in  old  times  the  law  gave  more  to  sons,  and  my  worthy  father 
might,  from  law  and  usage,  have  deemed  it,  as  doubtless  he 
did,  to  be  perfectly  correct,  yet  at  this  day  I  cannot  think  so, 
and  therefore  have  now  made  J —  equal  to  myself. 

After  this  his  interest  for  homely  things  can  be 
taken  for  granted.  He  was  fond  of  agriculture  ;  he 
watched  the  weather ;  he  rejoiced  in  the  early  spring 
birds,  hailing  the  warmer  season  with  their  musical 
notes. 

The  robins  have  eaten  up  all  our  cherries.  It  is  dis¬ 
couraging,  but  we  seem  to  have  no  remedy  short  of  shooting 
them,  and  that  we  cannot  do.  The  birds  give  us  great  pleas¬ 
ure,  and  we  must  make  up  our  minds  that  we  cannot  have 
song  and  cherries  too,  and  there  is  an  end. 

He  was  attracted  to  the  horses  that  had  done  him 
service,  and  parted  from  them  with  pain.  To  have 
them  killed  when  useless  gave  him  a  pang. 

He  was  not  an  anti-slavery  man  ;  far  from  it.  He 
would  not  have  been  had  he  lived  later,  when  the 


THE  UNITARIAN  LA  YMAN. 


121 


agitation  had  fairly  begun.  But  he  belonged  to  the 
party  of  progress.  He  was  at  bottom  a  Republican, 
and  though  he  did  not  believe  in  the  blacks,  he 
believed  in  an  equality  of  the  whites,  and  desired  for 
all  freemen  a  fair  chance.  On  travelling  through 
Connecticut,  he  remarks : 

It  is,  I  think,  a  most  valuable  and  highly  cultivated  tract 
of  country,  and  exhibits  an  equality  of  condition  as  respects 
its  inhabitants,  which  cannot  fail  to  please  a  man  of  republican 
notions. 

He  subscribed  for  a  teacher  of  blacks,  in  1809, 
and  he  treated  both  races,  when  dependent,  with  the 
same  kindness. 

To  this  universal  good-will  there  is  absolutely  no 
exception.  His  courtesy  was  perfect.  In  that  species 
of  humanity  he  was  really  an  example.  He  always 
returned  salutation  in  form  to  every  one  who  saluted 
him.  On  one  occasion,  when  an  old,  gossiping,  gar¬ 
rulous  black  man  came  to  see  him,  on  being  sum¬ 
moned,  he  brought  a  chair,  asked  his  visitor  to  sit, 
talked  with  him  pleasantly  during  his  stay,  bade 
him  a  polite  good-by  at  the  front  door,  then  care¬ 
fully  wiped  the  seat  and  put  it  back  in  its  place ; 
thus  testifying  at  once  his  urbanity  toward  the 
human  being  and  his  sense  of  the  inferiority  of  the 
class  to  which  he  belonged.  He  could  not  but  be 
courteous,  but  neither  could  he  forget  that  there 
were  ranks  in  society. 

In  fact,  he  remembered  this  faithfully,  but  in  an 
innocent  way,  never  allowing  his  respect  for  rank  to 


122 


BOSTON  UNITA KIA NISM. 


overrule  his  steadfast  honor  for  integrity.  Titles 
without  service  could  not  command  his  reverence. 
There  must  be  a  basis  of  work.  If  he  loved  a  lord, 
paid  his  court  to  a  governor,  admired  a  dignitary, 
there  was  a  reason  for  it,  and  that  reason  was  manly. 
When  Lord  Ashburton  came  to  this  country  as  a 
special  ambassador,  Mr.  Brooks  called  at  the  Tremont 
House,  and  was  flattered  by  the  friendly  recognition, 
but  all  the  time,  it  appeared  that  the  nobleman  was 
looked  up  to  as  “a  blessing  to  England  and  the 
United  States,  in  bringing  about  a  treaty  between 
the  two  nations.”  He  was  convinced  that  “  the 
Queen  could  not  have  sent  a  better  man.”  A  warmer 
tribute  was  paid  to  William  Gray,  the  famous  mer¬ 
chant,  and  to  other  civilians  whose  virtues  had  won 
his  esteem ;  and  if  he  seemed  to  set  a  high  value  on 
external  dignity,  it  may  have  been  because  of  the 
attention  it  drew. 

It  will  be  divined  that  asceticism  was  not  in  fashion 
one  hundred  years  ago.  Far  from  it.  The  old  man 
went  to  the  theatre  two  or  three  times  to  see  some 
favorite  actor  or  popular  play.  There  are  two  men¬ 
tions  of  a  dinner  without  wines.  But  this  kind  of 
abstinence  was  not  common,  though  temperance  was 
the  rule  in  respectable  company.  There  is  a  long 
list  of  wines  in  the  cellar  of  the  country  home,  where 
the  most  important  dinners  were  given.  Though  it 
would  hardly  match  the  delicacy  of  our  modern  days, 
yet  its  abundance  will  not  be  disputed. 

Every  thing  like  excess  in  eating  and  drinking 


THE  UNITARIAN  LA  YMAN. 


12  3, 


was  regarded  with  aversion.  That  it  was  the  custom 
to  give  large  dinners  is  evident,  and  great  prepara¬ 
tions  were  made  for  them.  But  the  amount  of  gor¬ 
mandizing  was  by  no  means  in  proportion  to  the 
bountifulness  of  the  repast. 

The  dinners  of  this  period,  though  less  elegant 
and  delicate  than  ours,  were  as  elaborate.  Waiters 
were  hired.  Cooks  were  provided.  There  were 
several  courses :  soup,  fish,  meats,  game,  pastry, 
fruits.  The  household  were  active  in  making  ready. 
Hours  were  spent  in  feasting,  the  conversation  was 
brilliant,  wit  and  anecdote  flew  round  much  in  the 
English  style,  though,  of  course,  with  a  profusion 
that  belongs  to  a  new  country  rather  than  an  old. 

There  was  a  cordial  reverence  for  intellect  among 
our  grandfathers.  They  probably  read  as  much  as 
we  do,  considering  the  number  of  books  and  the 
facilities  of  procuring  them.  Literature  was  not 
copious  in  those  times,  neither  was  it  cheap.  There 
was  no  easy  or  frequent  communication  with 
Europe,  or  even  England,  as  there  is  now.  Books 
of  travel  were  very  rare,  as  indeed  travellers  were. 
There  were  histories  and  poems,  volumes  of  philos¬ 
ophy  and  sermons,  tracts  and  biographies.  If  one 
had  no  speculative  tastes,  liked  concrete,  practical 
things  the  choice  was  narrow ;  still,  cultivation  was 
held  in  high  honor.  Brains  were  uppermost.  The 
libraries  that  used  to  be  collected,  filled  with  volumes 
“that  no  gentleman’s  shelves  should  be  without,” — 
Hume,  and  Smollett,  and  Johnson,  and  Shakespeare, 


124 


BOSTON  UNIT  A  RIA  NISM. 


and  Milton, — though  these  were  little  read,  was  a 
testimony  to  the  value  set  upon  talent.  And  when 
the  books,  though  few,  which  were  selected  for  their 
utility  or  because  they  expressed  individual  character, 
surrounded  a  man,  the  tribute  to  literature  was  pretty 
strong.  That  such  were  chosen  these  records  show, 
and  those  were  read.  They  at  least  represented 
something  beside  ostentation.  When  a  certain  fine 
house  was  building  in  New  York,  a  few  years  ago, 
the  architect  took  me  over  it.  There  was  every 
thing  that  luxury  could  suggest  in  the  way  of  floors, 
furniture,  inlaid  woods,  marble  lintels,  draperies, 
Oriental  rugs,  carvings,  bronzes,  mosaics,  but  there 
was  no  provision  for  the  mind.  A  beautiful  library- 
room  stretched  along  one  side  of  the  spacious  dwell¬ 
ing,  but  there  were  no  cases,  and  no  walls  for  any. 
In  the  evening  light  streamed  down  from  above 
through  stars  of  glass  aflame  with  electric  splendor, 
but  this  was  for  society,  not  for  study.  “  Where  are 
the  shelves  ?  ”  I  asked  my  companion.  “  Oh  !  ”  he 
answered,  “we  have  not  come  to  that.  It  was  as 

much  as  I  could  do  to  persuade  Mr. -  to  have  a 

library-room.  He  is  a  business  man.”  In  former 
days  there  were  books  at  least.  A  mute  tribute  was 
paid  to  learning,  and  in  most  cases  there  was  some¬ 
thing  more. 

Mr.  Brooks  attended  lectures  also,  and  on  subjects 
far  aloof  from  his  daily  pursuits.  He  heard  Ralph 
Waldo  Emerson  on  “The  Philosophy  of  History”; 
James  Walker  on  “Transcendentalism  and  Phrenol- 


THE  UNITARIAN  LA  YMAN 


125 


ogy.”  He  was  fond  of  getting  men  of  intellect 
about  him  and  listening  to  their  talk.  He  was 
intimate  with  the  best  minds,  invited  scholars  and 
statesmen  to  his  table.  For  works  of  imagination, 
poems  and  the  like,  he  did  not  care.  There  was  no 
art  in  America,  either  native  or  foreign,  and  if  there 
had  been  it  is  doubtful  if  he  would  have  been  in 
sympathy  with  it,  for  he  was  not  an  aesthetic  person. 
Music  had  no  charms  for  him.  There  is  no  mention 
of  instrument  or  song.  But  it  is  interesting  to  notice 
how  much  remains  when  these  are  banished,  how 
much  mind  there  is  left,  how  deep  a  furrow  one  can 
plough  without  these  modern  inventions,  how  much 
can  be  done  with  an  old  jack-knife,  if  one  has  nothing 
else. 

No  doubt,  according  to  our  definition,  he  was  a 
Conservative ;  that  is,  he  was  not  an  Abolitionist,  or 
a  woman’s-rights  advocate,  or  a  radical  Republican ; 
he  could  not  answer  questions  before  they  were 
asked.  His  early  years  had  been  passed  amid  the 
events  of  the  Revolution  and  the  subsequent  at¬ 
tempts  to  form  a  government.  Then  came  the  war 
of  1812,  with  what  went  before  and  what  followed. 
And  when  this  was  over  the  original  bent  of  his 
nature,  which  was  averse  to  every  thing  violent  or 
revolutionary,  was  so  confirmed  that  no  excitement 
could  reach  him.  Yet  he  was  a  Unitarian  and  a 
Whig,  thus  belonging  to  the  advanced  parties  in 
religion  and  politics,  and  went  as  far  as  they  did 
sixty  years  ago.  He  believed  in  Hr.  Channing  and 


126 


BOSTON  UNIT  A  RIA  NISM. 


Daniel  Webster,  and  there  stopped  with  the  most 
stubborn  conviction. 

“  God,”  said  Mr.  Emerson  “  never  sends  premature 
ideas.”  Certainly  He  did  not  in  this  instance. 
There  is  no  allusion  to  Garrison  or  Phillips  or 
Sumner,  to  the  Free-Soil  party,  or  the  higher  law. 
If  he  had  been  a  moral  enthusiast  he  could  not  have 
helped  showing  his  predilections.  But  he  was  not 
a  moral  enthusiast.  He  was  not  an  intuitive  charac¬ 
ter.  He  was  a  friend  of  law  and  order.  He  pro¬ 
fessed  no  philosophy  but  common-sense. 

But  his  conservatism  was  not  based  upon  position 
or  money  or  success  in  the  world.  It  rested  upon 
ideas  and  upon  force  of  conviction,  prejudice  it  may 
be,  but  prejudice  founded  in  judgment.  There  was 
limitation,  but  not  assumption ;  narrowness,  but  not 
conceit ;  rigidity,  but  not  vainglory.  He  was  born 
in  a  democracy,  and  accepted  its  principles ;  but  if 
he  had  been  born  under  king  or  queen  he  would 
have  been  content  with  his  lot,  not  feeling  himself 
in  bondage,  or  at  all  restrained  in  his  activity, 
though,  if  his  opinion  were  asked,  he  would  have 
expressed  a  preference  for  republican  institutions 
over  monarchical.  As  a  self-made  man,  he  must  have 
believed  in  the  capacity  of  the  people  to  govern 
themselves.  His  faith  was  in  character,  not  in  theory, 
and  as  theory  comes  a  good  while  before  character 
the  believer  in  the  last  will  never  be  a  reformer. 

At  the  end  of  this  long  chapter,  in  which,  after 
all,  full  justice  is  not  done  to  Mr.  Brooks’  charming 


THE  UNITARIAN  LA  YMAN. 


127 


urbanity,  or  the  delightful  Sunday  evenings  spent  at 
his  house  by  bright  people,  there  is  scanty  room  to 
tell  of  the  generosity  that  was  displayed  by  the 
Unitarian  laity  in  general,  both  men  and  women. 
They  all  had  a  genuine  desire  to  render  the  earthly 
lot  of  mankind  more  tolerable.  It  is  not  too  much 
to  say  that  they  started  every  one  of  our  best  secular 
charities.  The  town  of  Boston  had  a  poor-house, 
and  nothing  more  until  the  Unitarians  initiated  hu¬ 
mane  institutions  for  the  helpless,  the  blind,  the 
insane.  The  Massachusetts  General  Hospital,  the 
McLean  Asylum,  the  Perkins  Blind  Asylum,  the 
Female  Orphan  Asylum,  of  which  Madame  Prescott 
was  president, — an  institution  that  my  father  was 
very  much  devoted  to  and  visited  often, — were  of 
their  devising.  They  were  exceedingly  liberal  in 
their  gifts  to  Harvard  College,  and  to  other  colleges 
as  well, — for  they  were  not  at  all  sectarian,  as  their 
large  subscriptions  to  the  Boman  Catholic  Cathedral 
proved.  Whatever  tended  to  exalt  humanity,  in 
their  view,  was  encouraged.  They  were  as  noble  a 
set  of  men  and  women  as  ever  lived.  My  single 
example  illustrates  them  all,  in  its  best  traits  too. 

The  married  life  of  Mr.  Frothingham  was  exceed¬ 
ingly  happy,  the  wife’s  plain  common-sense  being  an 
admirable  complement  to  his  poetical  temperament. 
Her  death,  which  occurred  in  the  summer  of  1864, 
was  the  first  severe  blow  he  was  called  to  sustain. 
How  severe  will  appear  from  the  following  little 
poem,  the  beauty  of  which  may  excuse  its  personality. 


128 


BOSTON  UNIT  A  RIA  NISM. 


MADONNA. 


The  centre  of  my  life,  one  summer  morn, 

Melted  from  earth  into  the  brightening  sky  ; 

From  that  time  forth  its  visible  round  was  shorn, 
Narrowing  and  fading  on  the  wasting  eye, 

As  if  no  outward  scene  would  care  to  stay 
After  that  inmost  presence  passed  away. 

Oh,  daunt  me  not,  ye  shadows,  as  ye  fall 
Thicker  each  day  upon  my  sight  and  brain, 

At  thoughts  of  blank  dependence  and  the  pall 
Of  utter  night,  and  craze  that  ’s  more  than  pain  ! 
Hide  the  last  ray  that  guides  my  footsteps’  course, 

But  spare  the  wandering  thoughts  their  steadying  force. 

The  fatal  loss  went  first.  O  shade  of  her 
Who  shone  upon  my  life,  its  love  and  saint, 

Grow  not  thou  dark  to  me  !  Still  minister 
To  my  lone  spirit,  burdened  down  and  faint. 

Veiled  now  her  very  image  ;  but  the  heart 

Still  looks  and  yearns  and  moans,  and  will  not  part 


VII. 


THE  OLD  WOKLD. 

The  old  world  was  by  no  means  strange  to  tbe 
earlier  Unitarian  clergy.  Mr.  Buckminster  bad 
travelled  there  in  1806;  Francis  Parkman  bad  at¬ 
tended  theological  lectures  at  Edinburgh  in  1810; 
Frederic  Henry  Hedge  had  studied  at  Ilfeld  and 
Schulpforte  in  1818 ;  Edward  Everett  had  gone 
abroad  in  1815  to  qualify  himself  for  his  duties  as 
Greek  professor  at  Harvard  College.  Europe  was 
synonymous  with  art  and  beauty  and  civilization 
of  the  aristocratic  sort.  There  were  the  palaces  and 
cathedrals  and  galleries  and  museums.  There  were 
the  historic  cities  and  fields.  There  were  the 
great  collections  of  books.  There  was  Athens,  and 
Borne,  and  Wittenberg,  and  Worms,  and  Oxford. 
There  were  the  Alps  and  the  mountains  of  the 
Tyrol,  and  the  plain  of  Lombardy,  and  the  Italian 
lakes.  But  the  new  world  was  consecrated  to  hu¬ 
manity.  The  American  always  came  back,  and  was 
glad  to  come,  not  merely  because  America  was  his 
home,  and  the  dwelling-place  of  his  fathers,  but 
because  he  could  breathe  freely  there.  England  was 


9 


I2Q 


130 


BOSTON  UNIT  A  RIA  NISAI. 


still  remembered  as  his  enemy ;  Germany  was  almost 
unknown  ;  France  was  associated  with  revolution ; 
Italy  was  dominated  by  the  papacy ;  Austria  was 
but  another  name  for  despotism;  the  East  was  a 
ruin.  Then  the  old  world  was  far  off  and  hard 
to  get  at.  Travellers  across  the  Atlantic  Ocean  were 
few,  and  the  continent  was  lonely.  Railroads  were 
unbuilt  and  voyaging  was  slow  and  difficult.  States 
were  cut  off  from  states  by  vexatious  impositions. 
There  was  no  common  coinage,  no  common  law  or 
usage.  The  soldier  was  everywhere,  the  police  offi¬ 
cer,  the  priest.  Europe  was  more  picturesque  than 
it  is  now,  but  far  less  comfortable.  It  was  different 
from  this  country  in  every  respect.  The  change 
was  complete  of  language,  custom,  dress,  climate. 
Here  all  might  be  crude,  but  we  had  gained  in  inde¬ 
pendence,  we  had  won  opportunity.  The  material 
for  every  thing  good  was  ours.  Whatever  man  could 
do  was  within  our  grasp.  The  sentiment  of  the 
American  is  expressed  in  the  following  lines  written 
by  my  father  during  his  first  absence. 

A  SUNSET  IN  ITALY. 


Whence  do  the  Spirits  of  the  Air 
Breathe  gentlest,  kindliest  ? 

When  their  wind-harps  and  balm  they  bear 
From  their  chambers  in  the  West. 

When  glow  the  many-colored  skies 
In  their  richest  beauty  drest  ? 

When  the  sunset  flings  its  gorgeous  dyes 
O’er  its  curtains  in  the  West. 


THE  OLD  WORLD. 


131 

Like  that  soft  air  to  a  weary  brow, 

And  the  throbs  of  an  anxious  breast, 

Come  thoughts  of  the  dear  and  distant  now 
From  the  home  that  ’s  in  the  West. 

Like  those  fair  skies,  where  to  fancy’s  sight 
Float  forms  as  of  spirits  blest, 

Seems  the  golden  gleam  of  each  dear  delight, 

That  dwells  there  in  the  West. 

O  land,  of  all  that  bright  orb  gilds 
The  freest,  happiest,  best  ! 

Take  me  back  from  the  pomp  of  these  blushing  fields 
To  thy  proud  shores  in  the  West. 


In  the  summer  of  1826,  spent  with  care  and 
afflicted  by  violent  headaches  that  came  weekly, 
with  terrible  regularity,  Mr.  Frothingham  sailed  for 
Havre  in  the  packet  ship  Louis  for  a  year  of  recrea¬ 
tion.  The  voyage  lasted  thirty  days.  From  Havre 
to  Paris,  a  distance  of  one  hundred  and  sixty-two 
miles,  was  a  journey  of  thirty  hours.  Florence  was 
four  days  from  Venice.  From  Florence  to  Pome 
was  six  days  and  a  half,  at  the  rate  of  a  little  more 
than  thirty  miles  a  day.  From  Lyons  to  Paris,  by 
way  of  Moulins  and  Fontainebleau,  was  a  weary  ride 
of  four  days  and  almost  as  many  nights.  But  this 
leisurely  travelling  had  its  advantages  in  enabling 
the  tourist  to  see  the  country  and  to  stop  at  pretty 
places  that  people  now  are  whirled  through.  Here 
is  a  picture,  for  instance,  of  Terracina,  the  old,  dark 
town  on  the  edge  of  the  Pontine  Marshes,  which  is 
never  seen  in  our  days. 


132 


BOSTON  UNIT  A  KIA  NISM. 


“  The  next  morning  we  crossed  the  Pontine 
Marshes  on  an  excellent  road  that  was  thrown  across 
there  by  Pius  VI.,  and  came  down  in  the  evening  to 
Terracina.  This  place  is  close  under  the  mountains 
that,  a  few  years  ago,  were  so  celebrated  as  the 
haunts  of  banditti.  It  was  three  months  and  a  half 
since  I  had  been  in  sight  of  the  full  sea,  and  there 
was  the  Mediterranean  just  after  a  storm  throwing 
up  its  spray  over  the  very  road  we  travelled.  The 
sun  was  making  a  glorious  set.  The  little  old  city  of 
Terracina,  formerly  a  town,  was  on  the  hill  behind 
us,  and  the  boldest  height,  perfectly  inaccessible  on 
this  side,  was  crowned  with  a  very  imposing  ruin, 
said  to  have  been  the  palace  of  Theodoric  the  Gioth. 
To  complete  the  picture,  a  tall  palm-tree  lifted  up  its 
singular  branches  like  an  enormous  plume  above  all 
the  rest,  seeming  to  paint  itself  on  the  sky.” 

The  travellers  were  up  early,  often  at  dawn  of 
day,  and  there  was  a  great  deal  of  walking, — fifteen, 
twenty,  in  one  instance  over  thirty  miles  in  a  day, — 
with  knapsack  on  back,  and  over  steep  mountains. 
My  father  always  walked  when  he  could,  sometimes 
going  in  advance  of  the  diligence,  thus  paying  for 
the  privilege  of  using  his  feet.  All  the  shorter 
excursions — to  Tivoli,  to  St.  Denis,  to  St.  Germain, 
were  made  on  foot.  He  went  everywhere.  He  saw 
every  thing.  He  ascended  Vesuvius.  He  tramped 
about  Pompeii.  He  hated  Naples,  but  spent  hours 
in  the  museum.  Pome  disappointed  him,  though 
he  was  never  tired  of  St.  Peter’s. 


THE  OLD  WORLD. 


133 


“November  19th.  Yesterday  was  a  great  day  at 
the  church,  the  anniversary  of  its  dedication.  Of 
course  I  attended  the  ceremony.  A  great  many 
strangers  were  there,  especially  of  the  English,  who 
swarm  here  in  Rome.  Service  was  performed  in 
one  of  the  side  chapels,  which  are  all,  of  themselves, 
so  many  magnificent  churches.  It  consisted  chiefly 
of  music.  There  were  two  organs,  played  in  con¬ 
cert  on  opposite  sides  of  the  chapel;  and  two  choirs, 
of  fifteen  or  twenty  persons  each,  sung  at  the  very 
top  of  their  voices.  The  show  was  splendid.  Eleven 
cardinals  in  full  dress  were  in  their  places.  The 
papal  guards  in  the  Spanish  costume,  such  as  it  was 
in  the  days  of  the  Armada,  kept  the  people  in  order 
with  their  pikes.  Ecclesiastical  dresses  of  all  de¬ 
scriptions  were  there  to  be  seen.  A  cardinal  with  a 
retinue  of  inferior  clergy  officiated  at  the  altar.  But, 
after  all,  there  was  no  solemnity  in  it.  The  Roman 
worship  is  an  unintellectual,  unaffecting  thing  when 
you  have  made  the  most  of  it.  All  the  pomp  in  the 
world  cannot  render  it  otherwise.  The  music  was 
as  good  as  the  opera,  and  inspired  about  the  same 
feelings.  The  show  was  not  so  good  as  it  is  there. 
When  a  parcel  of  people  are  engaged  about  as  many 
wax  lights  in  bowing  and  marching  to  and  fro  and 
shaking  a  censer,  and  call  it  worship,  it  is  all  one  to 
my  feelings  whether  they  are  dressed  in  silver  robes 
or  a  brown  coat.  When  half  a  dozen  tall  men  do 
nothing  by  the  half-hour  together  but  take  off  a 
bishop’s  mitre  and  put  it  on  again,  it  does  not  make 


134 


BOSTON  UNIT  A  RIA  NISM. 


the  least  difference  to  me  that  the  mitre  is  blazing 
with  real  jewels.  .  .  .  Here  is  a  city  that  has 

ruled  the  world  twice, — at  first  by  its  arms  and 
afterward  by  its  doctrine,  and  now  there  is  no  place 
on  earth  that  makes  one  think  so  humbly  of  human 
power,  and  so  contemptuously  of  human  opinion.” 

If  Naples  was  dirty,  and  Rome  reminded  him  of 
the  “  emptiness  of  grandeur  ”  and  the  u  transientness 
of  fortune,”  Paris  was  a  ceaseless  entertainment. 
He  went  to  St.  Denis,  St.  Cloud,  Vincennes,  Ver¬ 
sailles.  He  ascended  all  the  towers,  admired  the 
statues,  walked  in  the  gardens.  Here  is  a  pretty 
scene  : 

“  The  king  had  a  play  in  his  private  theatre  on 
Saturday  evening,  and  I  was  so  much  favored  as  to 
receive  a  billet  of  admission.  This  was  through  the 
kind  and  unsolicited  attention  of  the  American  Am¬ 
bassador,  who  sent  me  one  of  the  only  two  tickets 
that  were  placed  at  his  disposal.  The  theatre  was 
filled  from  the  floor  to  the  ceiling,  and  with  such  a 
shining  company  as,  of  course,  my  republican  eyes 
had  never  been  laid  on  before.  Great  numbers  of 
the  French  nobility  were  present,  and  there  was 
a  profusion  of  diamonds  and  laced  coats,  you  may 
depend.  The,  entrance  of  the  Royal  Family  and 
their  coterie  was  taken  notice  of  in  no  other  way 
than  by  the  general  rising  of  the  assembly,  and 
as  soon  as  all  were  seated  the  comedy  began.  The 
stage,  however,  was  of  small  concern  to  me,  whose 
attention  was  taken  up  in  examining  the  actors  who 


THE  OLD  WORLD . 


135 


did  not  belong  behind  the  scenes,  and  especially  his 
Majesty,  the  Duke  and  Duchess  of  Angouleme,  and 
the  Duchess  of  Berri.  King  Charles  is  a  good- 
natured,  simple-looking  man,  who  laughed  heartily 
at  the  good  things  that  were  said  and  done,  blew  his 
nose  with  a  colored  silk  handkerchief,  and  made  a 
snuff-brush  of  his  coat  sleeve.  The  Dauphin  is  an 
ordinary  personage,  who  occupied  himself  chiefly  in 
quizzing  the  company  through  an  opera-glass.  The 
daughter  of  Marie  Antoinette  is  a  woman  of  coarse 
appearance,  without  the  least  grace  or  dignity.” 

Hence  he  went  to  Brussels,  Antwerp,  Utrecht, 
Amsterdam,  a  city  not  much  to  his  mind.  “  It 
began  to  be  built  only  five  or  six  hundred  years 
ago,  on  a  quagmire  that  was  not  worth  rescuing 
from  the  ocean,  and,  for  aught  I  see,  it  is  likely, 
within  the  same  number  of  years,  to  be  given  back 
to  the  sea  again.  Its  hackney-coaches  are,  for  the 
most  part,  mounted  on  sleds  instead  of  wheels,  that 
the  mud  foundations  of  the  town  may  not  be  too 
much  shaken.  Their  sledges  are  drawn  painfully 
along  by  a  single  horse,  and  the  driver,  if  he  may  be 
called  so,  walks  by  the  side  carrying  a  grease  bag 
for  the  runners  instead  of  a  whip  for  the  horse.” 
He  was  interested  in  all  the  places  of  historical  fame 
in  Holland, — Haarlem,  Leyden,  The  Hague,  Delft, 
Dort, — and  from  thence  sailed  to  England.  There 
he  was  as  indefatigable  as  he  had  been  in  Switzer¬ 
land,  Italy,  France, — wherever  he  happened  to  be. 
He  got  up  early  and  tramped  about  in  his  heavy 


136 


BOSTON  UNIT  A  RIA  NISM. 


shoes.  He  mounted  to  the  top  of  the  Monument  in 
London  while  the  custom-house  officers  were  search¬ 
ing  the  luggage,  and,  day  after  day,  went  mousing 
round  in  search  of  sights.  His  activity  of  mind 
and  heart  is  unceasing ;  he  goes  everywhere,  and 
wherever  he  goes  he  makes  reflections.  Westmin¬ 
ster  Abbey  greatly  impresses  him,  both  outside  and 
inside,  all  but  the  tombs.  “  Henry  YHth’s  chapel 
is  the  most  exquisite  specimen  of  Gothic  architecture 
that  I  have  seen,”  he  says ;  but  the  gloom  of  the 
monuments  is  oppressive  to  him.  Here  is  a  charac¬ 
teristic  touch  : 

“  I  hate  a  great  parade  of  sepulchral  marbles  shut 
away  from  the  light  and  air  of  heaven,  under  stone 
arches  as  proud  and  cold  and  dismal  as  themselves. 
All  this  produces  in  me  no  emotion  but  the  wish  to 
get  out  as  soon  as  I  can.  I  connect  the  show  with 
no  ideas  that  touch  me.  It  is  merely  gloomy. 

The  pillared  arches  are  overhead, 

And  under  foot  are  the  bones  of  the  dead, 

and  this  is  the  whole  about  it.  All  is  stone  and 
stone  where  all  is  not  dust.  For  my  own  part,  I 
love  to  associate  the  remains  of  mortality  with  the 
thousand  living  forms  of  eternal  nature,  with  the 
green  sod  and  the  fresh  flowers,  and  every  thing 
that  springs  out  of  the  ground  into  which  man  has 
descended.  Let  there  be  monuments,  if  you  will. 
The  more  the  better.  The  handsomer  the  better. 
But  do  let  the  sun  shine  upon  them,  and  the  air 
breathe  upon  them.  Let  me  see  above  them  the 


THE  OLD  WORLD. 


*37 


clouds  that  are  as  fleeting  as  man’s  life,  or  the  stars 
that  are  as  immortal  as  his  destiny,  and  then  I  can 
bind  together  my  thoughts  properly ;  then  I  begin 
to  feel.” 

Cambridge,  Windsor,  Eton,  Hampton  Court,  Rich¬ 
mond  Hill,  were  steps  in  his  progress.  He  walked 
from  Windsor  to  Stow,  from  London  to  Richmond. 
Then  he  went  to  Winchester,  Southampton,  Netley 
Abbey,  the  Isle  of  Wight,  Salisbury,  Stonehenge, 
Bath,  Bristol,  Chepstow  (by  steamer  at  seven  in  the 
morning),  Tintern  Abbey,  Oxford,  Woodstock, 
Blenheim,  Stratford-on-Avon,  where  he  lingered  and 
mused  and  wrote  the  lines  to  “  Shakespeare’s  Mul¬ 
berry  Tree”  (printed  in  the  First  Series  of.  the 
“  Metrical  Pieces  ”),  Warwick,  Coventry,  Leicester, 
Nottingham,  Sheffield,  Leeds,  York,  Newcastle.  This 
was  the  last  of  England.  Then  Scotland  opened  its 
wonders. 

At  Edinburgh  he  did  his  whole  duty  :  made  him¬ 
self  familiar  with  the  old  town  and  the  new,  visited 
the  tombs  of  Hume  and  Burns  at  Calton  burial- 
ground,  went  over  Holyrood  Palace,  saw  a  parade 
at  the  Castle,  walked  up  to  Arthur’s  Seat  and  Salis¬ 
bury  Crags  before  breakfast,  and  paid  his  respects  to 
Sir  Walter  Scott,  who,  in  answer  to  his  note,  wrote 
a  few  pleasant  lines  bidding  him  welcome  as  an 
American  and  a  clergyman ;  went  to  Roslin  Castle 
and  Hawthornden.  From  Edinburgh  he  travelled 
by  mail-coaches  to  Stirling ;  walked  to  Hover  (eight 
miles)  ;  took  the  coach  to  Callander ;  walked  ten 


138 


BOSTON  UNIT  A  RIA  NISAf. 


miles,  starting  at  four  o’clock  in  the  morning,  to  tlie 
Trosachs,  stopping  by  the  way  at  the  spots  made 
famous  by  Scott’s  poems — Coilantogle  Ford,  Loch 
Yennachar;  walked  across  the  mountains  to  Aber- 
foyle  (live  and  a  half  miles) ;  sauntered,  the  next 
day,  with  a  pleasant  party,  through  the  Trosaclis  to 
Loch  Katrine ;  was  rowed  ten  miles  up  the  lake ; 
walked  five  miles  to  Inverness,  and  took  the  steamer 
on  Loch  Lomond  to  Glasgow,  seeing  all  that  was 
remarkable  by  the  way.  After  Glasgow,  where  he 
was  by  no  means  idle,  he  journeyed  through  Lanark¬ 
shire,  Ayrshire,  Nithsdale,  Carlisle,  Penrith,  West¬ 
moreland,  Preston,  to  Liverpool.  A  dull  day  was 
passed  at  Manchester.  Then  to  Chester  and  Wales. 
At  the  vale  of  Clwyd  he  took  tea  with  Mrs.  Hemans, 
who  wrote  him,  before  sailing,  the  following  pleasant 
letter : 

St.  Asaph,  July  2d, 

Dear  Sir  : 

I  regret  that  it  is  not  in  my  power  to  give  you  all  the  trouble 
I  had  intended ;  some  books  which  I  had  proposed  entrusting 
to  your  care  for  Mr.  Norton  not  having  yet  been  returned  by 
a  friend  who  had  borrowed  them.  I  cannot,  however,  allow 
you  to  cross  the  Atlantic  without  bearing  with  you  my  best 
wishes  for  your  prosperous  voyage,  and  my  hopes  that  you  may 
find  all  the  little  faces  by  whose  smile  you  expect  to  be  greeted 
as  bright  and  blooming  as — allow  my  maternal  vanity  to  say — 
those  of  my  own  boys,  with  whom  you  made  so  speedy  an 
acquaintance.  I  was  not  without  hopes  that  you  might  have 
returned  this  way,  having  very  kindly  wished  you  contrary 
winds  and  all  sorts  of  contretems  to  prevent  your  visiting 
Dublin,  in  which  case  I  might  have  looked  for  the  gratification 


THE  OLD  WORLD . 


139 


-of  again  seeing  you  here  ;  but  I  am  not  Norna  of  the  Fitful 
Head,  or  you  should  have  had  a  storm  raised  to  drive  you  back 
to  St.  Asaph. 

You  will,  I  am  sure,  do  me  the  justice  to  tell  my  kind  friends 
in  New  England  of  the  deep  and  affectionate  interest  with 
which  I  speak  and  think  of  them.  I  believe  that  a  day  hardly 
ever  passes  in  which  the  names  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Norton  are 
not  mentioned  with  grateful  regard  at  Rhyllon.  I  should  wish 
my  kindest  respects  also  to  be  offered  to  Dr.  Channing,  and 
to  Mr.  Bancroft  the  assurance  of  our  frequent  remembrance. 
Should  any  friend  of  yours  be  likely  to  visit  my  own  vale  of 
Clwyd,  be  assured  of  the  pleasure  I  shall  have  in  showing  my 
regard  for  your  country,  by  attention  such  as  may  be  in  my 
power,  to  his  children.  And  believe  me,  dear  sir,  with  a 
gratifying  recollection  of  the  hours  lately  passed  in  your  society, 

Sincerely  yours, 

Felicia  Heman's. 

This  letter  was  received  in  Boston,  whither  it 
was  directed.  After  leaving  Mrs.  Hemans,  the 
wonders  of  Wales  and  the  “  picturesqueness  ”  of 
Dublin  were  surveyed ;  a  few  days  were  passed 
with  friends  in  Liverpool,  and  on  the  2d  of  July  he 
was  on  board  the  Manchester.  The  homeward  pas¬ 
sage  lasted  fifty-two  days.  The  trip  was,  in  every 
respect,  successful.  Health  had  been  excellent  all 
the  time.  A  good  many  agreeable  people  had  been 
.met,  some  distinguished  ones,  among  them  General 
Lafayette,  who  called  on  him  in  Paris  and  wrote  him 
two  very  kindly  notes.  He  had  heard  the  chief 
singers  in  the  world;  had  seen  the  most  eminent 
actors  and  actresses.  He  attended  theatres  and 
churches  in  every  city,  and  sought  the  spots  where 


140 


BOSTON  UNITARIANISM . 


there  was  a  chance  to  be  amused.  He  had  enjoyed 
and  reflected  much,  and  been  enlarged ;  but  the  sigh 
for  New  England  light  and  liberty  was  incessant.  In 
one  of  his  letters  from  Rome  he  says : 

“  Of  all  the  cities  I  have  seen  I  should  say  that 
Venice  was  that  for  romance,  Florence  for  the  arts, 
Rome  for  recollections,  Geneva  for  scenery,  and  Paris 
for  pleasure.  But  as  a  place  to  live  in ,  to  enjoy 
one’s  own  self  and  friends,  and  bring  up  one’s  chil¬ 
dren,  give  me  my  own  little  Boston  before  them  all.” 

In  the  spring  of  1849  he  went  abroad  again,  this 
time  seriously  in  search  of  health.  An  attack  of 
bronchitis  was  accompanied  with  troubles  in  his 
head  and  with  indigestion.  His  strength  departed 
and  he  was  reduced  in  weight  to  one  hundred  and 
thirty-one  pounds.  The  voyage,  by  steamer  this 
time,  was  pleasant.  He  walked  about  Liverpool, 
enjoying  the  balmy  air,  and  after  a  ride  of  nine 
hours  and  three  quarters,  which  seemed  to  him  rapid 
travelling,  found  himself  in  London.  George  Ban¬ 
croft,  successor  to  Edward  Everett,  and  an  old  friend, 
was  Minister  in  England.  He  saw  Mr.  Bancroft  in 
court  costume, — gold-laced  coat,  hat,  and  trousers, 
with  a  sword  by  his  side.  The  next  day  “  his  Excel¬ 
lency  ”  took  him  to  the  House  of  Lords.  He  met 
Macaulay,  Hallam,  Milman,  and  the  Duke  of  Argyle 
at  a  breakfast  given  for  him  at  Mr.  Bancroft’s. 

“  Never  did  I  listen  to  such  a  torrent  of  talk. 
They  appeared  to  talk  all  together,  and  yet  without 
confusion.  It  rushed  on  from  one  topic  to  another 


THE  OLD  WORLD . 


141 

with,  inconceivable  rapidity :  law  matters,  church 
matters,  literary  matters.  I  sat  next  to  Mil  man,  who 
was  very  kind  to  me.  Hallam  opens  his  mouth  and 
shuts  his  eyes, — one  very  large  and  the  other  very 
narrow, — and  catches  his  breath  as  he  talks.  But 
Macaulay  !  His  volubility  is  charming.  His  laugh 
you  listen  to  as  a  sort  of  low  music.  It  does  not 
pull  you  along  to  listen  to  it,  but  you  watch  it,  it  is 
so  quiet  and  pleasant.  The  engraving  that  you  have 
of  him  in  the  ‘  History  ’  is  a  perfect  likeness.” 

He  saw  and  heard  Earl  Grey  in  the  new  and 
splendid  House  of  Lords.  He  breakfasted  with  the 
poet  Rogers,  then  eighty-five  years  old,  but  bright  as 
ever,  and  “  very  gracious  to  me,”  thanks,  it  was  mod¬ 
estly  supposed,  to  his  relationship  with  Mr.  Everett, 
“  whose  name  is  extremely  endeared  in  all  quarters.” 
Then  he  met  “his  Grace  the  Bishop  of  Norfolk,  a 
sprightly  old  gentleman  of  seventy,”  at  a  breakfast 
given  by  Dr.  Holland.  These  “breakfasts”  were 
exceedingly  simple,  “  the  utmost  extravagance  at  the 
rich  Mr.  Rogers’,  with  a  company  as  numerous  as 
the  Knights  of  the  Round  Table,  was  a  slice  of 
tongue.”  On  Sunday  morning  he  went  to  the  meet¬ 
ing  of  the  sect  founded  by  Edward  Irving,  the 
friend  of  Carlyle,  who  died  at  Glasgow  in  1834,  and 
in  the  afternoon  to  the  Temple,  drawn  thither  by  the 
reputation  of  the  music,  said  to  be  the  finest  in  Lon¬ 
don.  The  choir  sang  the  tune  “  All  Saints  ”  in  an 
enchanting  manner.  Westminster  Abbey,  which 
had  delighted  him  at  first,  was  thrown  completely 


142 


BOSTON  UNITARIA N ISM. 


into  the  shade.  He  visited  Thomas  Carlyle  in  a 
most  friendly  manner  and  Sir  Charles  Lyell,  heard 
the  opera  of  “  Der  Freischtitz  ”  sung  in  the  original 
German  by  a  company  from  Amsterdam,  listened  to 
Lablache  the  Great,  was  amused  by  the  dress  and 
style  of  the  servants,  and  forgot  his  infirmities  for  a 
time. 

After  sumptuous  and  finished  and  blooming 
England,  the  first  impressions  of  France,  especially 
of  republican  Paris,  were  unfavorable.  The  swarm¬ 
ing  people  disconcerted  him.  He  saw  Rachel  at  the 
Theatre  Frangais  and  did  not  like  her.  But  soon  his 
old  enthusiasm  revived. 

“The  scene  has  changed  much  for  the  better. 
I  have  become  used  to  what  was  unpleasant,  and 
cannot  help  admiring  this  splendid  capital.  I  find 
vast  improvements  on  all  sides  :  the  convenient  side¬ 
walks,  the  well-lighted  streets,  the  omnibuses  running 
in  every  direction,  more  commodious  and  more  per¬ 
fectly  arranged  than  those  of  London.  Then  the 
gardens  are  finer  than  ever.  The  Garden  of  Plants, 
the  Garden  of  the  Tuileries,  and,  above  all,  the 
Garden  of  the  Luxembourg,  branch  out  with  a  rich¬ 
ness  that  twenty-three  years  have  done  not  a  little  to 
increase.” 

He  sees  Meyerbeer’s  new  piece,  “  Le  Prophete,”  at 
the  Grand  Opera,  and  its  caricature,  “  L’Ane  a  Bap¬ 
tiste,”  meant  to  pour  ridicule,  which  he  enjoyed,  on 
the  Socialists  and  disorganizes  of  the  period.  “  I 
suspect  that  Charles  Fourier  is  held  in  more  honor  in 


THE  OLD  WORLD . 


H3 


New  York  and  Boston  than  lie  is  here.”  The  name 
of  Fourier  was  not  musical  to  his  ear.  He  went 
to  St.  Denis,  the  cathedral  of  which  had  been  “  re¬ 
stored  ”  at  an  expense,  he  was  told,  of  more  than 
three  millions  of  dollars.  He  frequented  the  Louvre, 
spent  a  fete  day  at  Versailles  (that  demands  strength), 
and  saw  the  sunset  from  the  western  terrace  of  the 
Palace  Garden.  “  Before  me  lay  the  c  Place  de  la 
Concorde,’  that  made  my  Trafalgar  Square  appear 
but  a  backyard  in  comparison.  The  Obelisk  of 
Luxor,  brought  from  Egypt  at  prodigious  expense, 
stood  in  the  centre.  Two  grand  fountains  were 
throwing  up  their  waters,  one  on  each  side  of  it, 
the  rims  of  their  basins  of  such  a  circumference 
that  if  one  of  them  was  set  up  in  the  middle  of 
Boston  Common  it  would  appear  disproportionately 
large.  Away  off  at  the  left  were  the  beautiful  por¬ 
ticos  of  the  6  Chamber  of  Deputies  ’  and  the  grace¬ 
ful  dome  of  the  ‘  Invalides.’  Stretching  before  me 
were  the  ‘  Champs  Elysees.’  The  marble  statues 
around,  much  larger  than  life,  received  light  from 
the  glowing  clouds.”  He  took  a  run  down  to  Tours 
by  way  of  Orleans.  The  “  Maid  of  Orleans  ”  was 
one  of  his  heroines,  and  he  never  missed  a  chance  of 
glorifying  the  memory  of  the  noble  but  ill-fated  girl 
and  shedding  a  tear  over  the  spots  she  had  conse¬ 
crated  by  her  sacrifices.  On  his  return  to  Paris  the 
city  was  so  disturbed  by  rumors  of  insurrection,  and 
by  the  alarming  prevalence  of  cholera,  that  he  went 
back  to  London,  travelling  on  the  Continent  being 


144 


BOSTON  UNI T A RI A NISM. 


rendered  uncomfortable,  if  not  dangerous,  from 
troops.  In  London  were,  friends.  He  met  Mr. 
Cobden  at  Mr.  Bancroft’s,  and  was  greatly  pleased 
with  him.  He  heard  Mozart’s  “  Don  Giovanni  ”  in 
German,  also  Spohr’s  opera  of  “  Faust.”  His  inti¬ 
mates  complimented  him  on  his  apparent  gain  in 
health.  He  was  delighted  with  a  visit  to  Milman. 
“  I  am  much  taken  with  him  ;  and  his  house  is  such 
a  residence  as  I  had  never  imagined  before,  a  fit 
residence  for  a  sacred  poet,  and  the  historian  of  two 
religions.  The  gate  that  leads  you  across  the  little 
garden  to  his  study  door  opens  from  the  very  clois¬ 
ters  of  Westminster  Abbey.  His  garden  walk,  with 
its  lines  of  pointed  arches  hundreds  of  years  old,  is 
a  part  of  the  former  refectory  of  a  convent  attached 
to  the  church.  The  dwelling  itself  that  he  occupies 
was  designed  by  the  founder,  Inigo  Jones.”  The 
Zoological  Garden  was  duly  inspected  and  de¬ 
scribed. 

The  disagreeable  symptoms  were  all  gone.  He 
was  weighed,  and  had  gained  ten  pounds  and  a  half. 
Still  he  had  misgivings  as  to  his  physical  condition, 
and  doubted  whether  he  should  be  able  to  resume 
his  pastoral  duties  to  any  thing  like  the  old  extent, 
and  begs  his  people  not  to  be  too  sanguine.  Before 
going  to  the  Continent  again,  he  heard  Milman 
preach,  and  Disraeli  speak  in  the  Commons  ;  melted 
into  tears  as  the  choir  in  the  Temple  church  sang, 
“  Whither  shall  I  go  from  thy  Spirit  ” ;  heard  Madame 
Persiani  sing,  saw  Mrs.  Jameson,  and  had  a  few 


THE  OLD  WORLD. 


145 


minutes’  talk  with  Lady  Byron.  Then  for  Ostend. 
At  Bruges  he  mounted  the  celebrated  belfry,  and 
thought  of  Longfellow.  At  Aix  Charlemagne  came 
before  his  vision.  But  the  old  town  was  deserted, 
dirty,  and  gloomy.  He  preferred  cheerful  things. 
Belgium  charmed  him  with  its  picturesqueness  and 
beauty,  the  elegance  of  its  women,  the  grace  of 
manners.  At  Malines  there  were  masterpieces  of 
painting.  At  Ghent  there  was  a  festival  with  hand¬ 
some  decorations,  dances,  costumes,  banners.  At 
Cologne  there  was  the  Cathedral,  always  interesting 
and  impressive,  at  that  time  more  imposing  for  being 
unfinished  and  unmodernized.  And  there  was  the 
Rhine,  the  river  he  had  come  to  see.  This  did  not 
disappoint  him  in  any  way.  He  was  enthusiastic 
about  the  river,  as  poets  are  apt  to  be.  He  wrote  : 

“  It  has  not  disappointed  me  in  any  respect.  It 
has  rather  gone  beyond  all  my  expectations.  I 
enjoyed  two  days  of  incessant  admiration ;  from 
Cologne  to  Coblent z,  where  I  stopped  to  rest,  and 
from  there  to  the  fine  town  of  Mayence,  where  I 
spent  another  night,  I  wished  I  had  eyes  all  round 
my  head,  that  I  might  not  lose  a  single  point  of  the 
prospect.  From  the  seven  mountains  to  ‘  the  castled 
crag  of  Hrachenfels,’  that  ‘  frowned  o’er  the  wide  and 
winding  Rhine  ’  (mark  these  two  adjectives),  full  as 
hard  as  I  thought  it  would,  to  the  last  gentle  slope 
of  the  fruitful  hills,  fruitful  wonderfully  through 
the  ingenious  toil  of  the  cultivator, — every  thing  was 
enchanting  upon  this  incomparable  stream.  I  call 

10 


BOSTON  UNIT  A  RIANT SM. 


146 

it  incomparable,  not  because  there  may  not  be  others 
as  beautiful  and  noble,  though  I  hardly  believe  it, 
but  because  there  is  no  other  the  least  like  it.  As 
the  undulating  high  grounds  swept  far  away,  they 
were  thrown  up  into  handsome  shapes  such  as  I  had 
never  seen  before  ;  sometimes  rising  into  the  form  of 
a  wave  just  ready  to  curl  and  break.  You  will 
think  me  extravagant,  but  I  do  really  believe  that  if 
there  was  not  a  single  castle  or  old  ruin  to  be  found, 
and  if  it  was  not  crowded  as  it  is  with  the  recollec¬ 
tions  of  what  has  taken  place  upon  its  banks  and 
waters,  it  would  still  be  the  most  charming  of  all 
rivers.  One  may  talk  of  painting  the  Rhine, — to  be 
sure  the  water  is  clay-color  and  none  of  the  clearest, 
— but  the  thing  is  not  to  be  done.  The  effect  is  in 
no  ‘  Panorama.’  And  then  to  think  of  all  the  his¬ 
tory  and  poetry  that  add  an  inexpressible  interest  to 
the  whole  scene  !  ” 

Strasburg  delighted  him,  “French  town  and  yet 
half  German  ” ;  the  cathedral,  which  filled  him 
“  with  special  wonder  ”  as  a  “  wilderness  of  architec¬ 
tural  marvels  and  strange  surprises  ” ;  the  storks ; 
the  quaint  houses.  At  Basle  he  learned  of  the 
death  of  DeWette,  who  was  living  but  a  few  weeks 
before.  At  Zurich  he  enjoyed  the  scenery.  At 
Lucerne  he  revelled  in  the  view  of  mountains, 
lake,  villages,  chalets,  the  bridges,  the  lion, — in  the 
preparation  for  the  more  gigantic  magnificence  of 
the  highest  Alps.  He  ascended  the  Brtinig  and  the 
Scheidegg ;  stood  under  the  deep  blue  vault  of  the 


THE  OLD  WORLD . 


147 


Bosenlaui  glacier ;  walked  up  the  valley  of  Lauter- 
brunnen ;  was  ravished  with  the  fairy  fall  of  the 
Staubbach,  saw  “  the  incomparable  White  Lady  ”  at 
Interlaken;  visited  the  cascade  of  the  Griessbach, 
climbed  up,  all  alone,  to  an  old  ruined  castle  that 
was  supposed  to  be  celebrated  in  Byron’s  “  Man¬ 
fred  ” ;  and  then  went  to  Berne ;  saw  the  bears  and 
admired  the  spectres  of  the  distant  mountains. 

“This  morning  I  attended  service  in  the  great 
Cathedral,  filled  with  a  Protestant  congregation  to 
overflowing.  The  preacher’s  old-fashioned  ruff  was 
like  the  past  ages ;  the  slamming  of  the  seats  as 
often  as  the  people  rose  or  sat  reminded  me  of  what  I 
used  to  hear  in  my  youth ;  but  the  hour-glass  at  the 
side  of  the  pulpit  looked  rather  alarming.  The 
minister  was  merciful,  however,  and  if  his  sermon 
was  ‘as  one  that  speaketh  in  an  unknown  tongue,’ 
so  was  not  the  organ,  a  splendid  instrument  that 
was  installed  with  ceremony  only  two  days  ago,  and 
professes  to  rival  that  at  Haarlem.  The  soft  tones 
were  like  Ariel’s  and  its  loud  ones  made  the  pews 
tremble.  From  the  esplanade  before  the  church,  or 
rather  by  the  side  of  it,  one  has  a  superb  view  of 
the  distant  mountains.  There  is  a  still  better  one 
from  a  delightful  promenade  upon  the  ramparts. 
To  both  places  I  go  and  keep  going.  Last  evening 
I  was  at  the  latter  place  from  an  hour  before  sunset 
till  no  light  was  left  but  the  moon’s,  that  was  too 
feeble  to  reflect  them  well.  There  they  clearly  were, 
with  their  prodigious  masses,  and  yet  hardly  looking 


148 


BOSTON  UNITARIA NISM. 


like  real  substances.  The  Jungfrau,  the  Monchr 
the  Eiger,  the  Fins  ter- Aar-Horn,  the  Schreckhorn, 
the  Wetterhorn,  and  all  the  rest  of  the  hard  family 
of  the  Horns,  were  right  before  me,  together  with 
the  Bliimlis-Alp  on  the  extreme  right,  the  most  pic¬ 
turesque  of  them  all,  as  seen  from  this  point.  It  is 
an  unwearying  delight  to  me  to  see  these  tall  fel¬ 
lows  lifting  half  of  their  height  into  the  region  of 
everlasting  frost,  and  with  no  end  of  the  variety  of 
their  appearance,  as  the  sky  changes.  The  clouds 
try  to  look  like  mountains,  and  the  mountains  them¬ 
selves  seem  sometimes  to  be  but  shadows  and  mists.” 

From  Mayence  the  voyager  went  to  Wiesbaden 
in  order  to  see  the  pleasant  place  and  taste  the 
waters,  which  were  not  at  all  to  his  liking ;  nasty 
tasting  things  seldom  were.  At  Coblentz  he  came 
to  “  the  banks  of  the  blue  Moselle  ”  and  ascended 
the  beautiful  stream,  rejoicing  to  be  “  water-borne,” 
with  “  a  view  all  round  of  heaven  and  earth  ” ; 
climbing  up  to  one  of  the  ruined  towers  before  sun¬ 
rise,  delighting  in  the  level  meadows,  mounting  to 
the  Marienburg,  and  eating  his  simple  meals  in  the 
open  air,  the  summer  shower  moistening  his  bread 
sometimes.  So  he  reached  Treves, — that  ancient  city 
which  “Julius  Caesar  found  important  enough  to  be 
his  useful  ally, — a  city  where  false  Constantine  dis¬ 
played  his  imperial  state  and  cruelty,  and  where 
some  of  his  successors  resided ;  a  city  whose  arch¬ 
bishops  were  princes  and  fighters,  men  of  stratagem 
and  violence.  Have  I  not  been  into  its  Cathedral 


THE  OLD  WORLD. 


149 


and  its  Church  of  the  Madonna  over  and  again, 
and  heard  the  music  and  singing  therein?  You 
need  not  desire  to  look  at  two  more  impressive 
specimens  of  ecclesiastical  antiquity,  built  in  the 
depths  of  the  dark  ages.  But  they  are  quite  young 
when  compared  with  the  Roman  remains  that  stand 
yet  in  the  town.  I  have  been  to  the  amphitheatre, 
where  beasts  and  men  tried  which  could  be  the 
most  savage,  fifteen  hundred  years  ago  the  scene 
of  vast  bloodshed  and  mortal  agony.  I  have  been 
to  the  mighty  skeleton  of  the  Baths,  built  as  none 
but  those  gigantic  robbers  knew  how  to  build. 
I  have  been  to  the  top  of  the  enormous  gateway  of 
which  no  tradition  gives  the  slightest  account.  .  • .  . 
Before  leaving  Treves  I  may  as  well  mention  that 
here  was  the  ridiculous  exposition  of  the  ‘Holy 
Coat  ’  that  made  so  much  commotion  a  few  years 
ago,  and  that  exalted  one  Mr.  Ronge  into  the  fame 
of  a  second  Luther  for  several  weeks.” 

The  hours  in  Metz  were  not  many,  and  they  were 
very  much  occupied.  The  traveller  was  glad  to 
find  himself  in  cheerful  France  again.  Paris  was  an 
old  story  ;  but  “  Chalons  upon  the  Marne  ”  was  not ; 
Rheims  was  not.  Did  not  Joan  of  Arc  have  her 
great  day  there?  Was  not  the  grand  cathedral 
there  ?  and  the  statues  ?  and  the  painted  glass  ?  and 
the  fine  round  window  ? 

In  the  summer  of  1849 — August  22d — the  Peace 
Congress  met  in  Paris,  and  the  Rue  de  la  Chaussee 
d’Antin,  where  the  meetings  were  held,  was  alive 


150 


BOSTON  UNI T ARIA N ISM. 


with  people,  among  whom,  as  much  interested  as  any¬ 
body  in  the  humane  aspect  of  the  reform,  stood  Mr. 
Frothingham,  not  a  representative  but  a  spectator 
only.  Victor  Hugo,  in  a  white  vest,  light  trousers, 
with  dashing  stripe  at  the  side,  presided  and  opened 
the  proceedings  with  a  characteristic  speech.  He 
was  supported  on  the  right  by  the  Homan  Catholic 
minister  of  the  Madeleine,  in  priest’s  dress,  with  a 
large  black  band  edged  with  white,  and  on  the  left 
by  Athanase  Coquerel,  the  Protestant  preacher  of  the 
Oratoire,  wearing  in  his  button-hole  the  badge  of  his 
membership  in  the  National  Assembly.  The  utmost 
harmony  prevailed  throughout.  The  speaking  was 
partly  in  French  and  partly  in  English,  and  as  the 
orators  did  not  always  understand  each  other,  there 
could  be  no  collision.  Strictly  speaking  there  was 
no  debate,  for  discussion  of  the  existing  state  of  poli¬ 
tics  was  forbidden,  even  if  all  controversy  had  not 
been  ridiculously  out  of  place  in  a  peace  convention. 
The  English  spoke  wonderfully  well.  The  French 
language  lent  itself  easily  to  noble  declamation.  The 
Americans  were  voluble  and  sentimental.  Henry 
Vincent  distinguished  himself.  There  was  great 
applause  and  unbounded  enthusiasm.  Every  enun¬ 
ciation  of  a  generous  principle  was  greeted  with 
rapture.  Even  platitudes  were  welcomed.  All  the 
idealists  and  inflammables  were  there,  or  wished  they 
were.  Hundreds  had  crossed  the  Channel ;  one  of 
the  French  newspapers  hailed  the  Americans  who 
had  bravely  come  from  the  “  depths  of  their  forests.” 


THE  OLD  WORLD . 


151 

The  French  ministers  showed  all  honor  to  the 
visitors.  The  public  works  were,  without  reserve, 
thrown  open  on  presentation  of  the  little  blue  ticket 
that  the  members  carried.  The  “  great  waters  ”  at 
Versailles  celebrated  their  coming,  and  a  breakfast 
was  given  them.  The  palace  of  St.  Cloud  flung  wide 
its  gorgeous  apartments,  glowing  with  paintings  and 
glittering  with  gilding.  The  crowd  stood  on  balco¬ 
nies  which  looked  over  a  charming  country  as  far  as 
Paris.  The  procession  marched  through  the  lovely 
grounds,  and  round  the  lake,  encircled  with  statues 
and  fountains.  From  a  deep  grove,  approached  by 
a  noble  flight  of  steps,  a  solitary  jet  of  water,  the 
highest  in  France,  tossed  up  its  spray  for  the  delight 
of  the  spectators.  The  cascades  were  illuminated. 
The  waters  fell  down  three  long  flights  of  steps. 
Lights  were  placed  in  a  row  on  each  stair,  so  that  the 
waves  rolled  over  them,  while  innumerable  fires  shed 
their  lustre  upon  the  surface.  At  intervals  masses 
of  flame,  variously  colored,  went  up  from  large  vases 
above  and  below  the  fall,  lighting  up  not  only  the 
streams  and  the  vast  basin  they  flowed  into,  but  the 
trees  that  made  an  amphitheatre  at  the  side  and 
behind.  The  whole  was  like  a  scene  of  enchant¬ 
ment, — a  rare  sight  for  the  French  themselves;  a 
little  showy  perhaps,  but  very  splendid. 

This  was  the  glorious  side.  The  droll  aspects  of 
the  Congress  may  be  forgiven, — the  strange  mingling 
of  tongues ;  the  mistake  of  Mr.  Cobden  in  announ¬ 
cing  a  letter  from  the  Archbishop  of  Paris  as  a  com- 


152 


BOSTON  UNI TARIANISM. 


munication  from  the  Archbishop  of  Canterbury ;  the 
heated  harangue  of  a  socialist;  a  denunciation  of 
American  slavery  by  an  Abolitionist ;  the  accidental 
assumption  of  borrowed  plumage  by  a  few  unpacific 
individuals.  But  an  incident  that  befell  my  honest, 
guileless,  simple-minded  father  was  so  characteristic 
and  so  funny  that  it  must  be  told.  M.  De  Tocque- 
ville,  Minister  of  Foreign  Affairs,  had  thrown  open 
his  magnificent  rooms  and  illuminated  his  garden, 
and  given  a  most  hospitable  invitation  to  the  “  Con¬ 
gress.”  An  officious  person,  who  seemed  to  be  a 
master  of  ceremonies,  advanced,  called  the  visitor  by 
his  name  and  title,  and  presented  him  formally  to 
the  host  and  hostess.  This  person  proved  to  be  the 
editor  of  an  anti-slavery  sheet,  and  not  a  very  savoury 
individual  either.  Both  these  facts  were  learned 
afterwards  to  the  victim’s  great  disgust.  It  is  not 
likely  that  M.  De  Tocqueville  knew  who  his  usher 
was,  being  absorbed  in  the  agreeable  duty  of  receiv¬ 
ing  the  men  and  women  who  represented  a  great 
idea. 

This  description  of  Victor  Cousin  is  interesting. 
Cousin,  it  may  be  necessary  to  remind  the  present 
generation,  was  a  famous  philosopher,  a  correspond¬ 
ent  of  Dr.  Channing,  a  man  of  influence  among  the 
early  Unitarians,  one  whose  works  were  studied  by 
scholars,  fifty  years  ago. 

“  He  lives  at  the  Sorbonne,  an  ancient  sort  of  col¬ 
lege,  where  I  found  him  after  mounting  but  one 
flight  of  homely  stone  stairs.  His  reception-room 


THE  OLD  WORLD. 


153 


was  as  plain  as  plain  could  be,  with  a  few  common 
engravings,  likenesses  of  uncommon  men  in  his  line, 
hanging  on  the  walls.  The  only  two  engravings  of 
a  different  sort  that  he  had  chosen  to  deck  his  room 
with  were  the  ‘  Death  of  Socrates  ’  and  the  4  Madonna 
of  the  Throne.’  He  received  me  with  great  cordiality, 
in  a  queer  cap  covering  his  gray  hair,  and  wrapped 
in  a  gown  not  unlike  the  poorest  that  I  have  some¬ 
times  ventured  timidly  to  make  my  appearance  in 
on  a  winter  morning.  He  talked  with  great  anima¬ 
tion  on  religious  philosophy  in  general  and  on  some 
of  my  Boston  friends  in  particular ;  putting  on  no 
dignity  or  reserve,  but  throwing  himself  about  with 
a  liberality  of  gesture  and  grimace  that  would  have 
seemed  rather  odd  in  England  or  America.  I  was 
veiy  much  pleased  with  what  he  said,  and  believe 
that  I  was  rather  lucky  in  the  small  part  that  fell  to 
myself  in  the  conversation.” 

He  went  to  the  Theatre  Frangais  to  see  Mademoi¬ 
selle  Bachel,  who  had  reappeared  in  Corneille’s 
tragedy  “  Les  Horaces,”  and  liked  her  better  than 
before,  but  was  not  transported.  She  was  too  dis¬ 
tressing  for  him,  nor  did  her  spasmodic  power  please 
his  taste,  which  demanded  more  even  as  well  as 
more  cheerful  things.  Here  is  a  picture  of  Napoleon 
III: 

“  Whoever  has  seen  any  of  his  pictures  has  seen 
him ,  with  his  ordinary  features,  and  narrow,  heavy 
eyes ; — a  sluggish-looking  countenance.  He  is  any 
thing  but  sluggish,  however,  in  reality.  He  affects 


154 


BOSTON  UNITARIANISM. 


state,  never  forgets  the  name  of  his  uncle,  who  is  the 
national  idol,  and  doubtless  has  the  most  ambitious 
views.  One  of  the  French  papers  that  I  read  this 
morning  contrasted  his  military  trappings  and  attend¬ 
ance  as  he  parades  through  the  country  whenever  a 
new  section  of  railway  is  to  be  opened,  with  plain 
General  Taylor,  the  old  soldier  and  conqueror,  visit¬ 
ing  different  parts  of  our  United  States  without 
pomp  or  noise.” 

A  night  or  two  more  at  the  Grand  Opera,  the 
Gymnase  Dramatique,  where  the  acting  was  perfect, 
excursions  to  Fontainebleau,  St.  Germain,  Passy,. 
Neuilly,  Chartres,  Rouen,  and  the  traveller  bade 
farewell  to  France  and  looked  toward  home.  The 
last  letter  was  written.  England  did  not  detain  him 
long.  He  sailed  from  Liverpool  in  September.  The 
trip  was,  on  the  whole,  beneficial,  though  it  did  not 
restore  him.  In  the  latter  part  of  the  summer,  he 
spoke  of  feeling  well,  but  of  being  far  from  strong ; 
doubted  if  his  voice  was  more  powerful  than  it  had 
been  before  he  left  Boston ;  and  was  afraid  lest  his 
people  should  think  him  more  vigorous  than  he  was ; 
talked  of  a  colleague,  and  of  holding  out  for  a  year 
alone.  The  Atlantic  voyage  was  prosperous,  but  a 
slight  shock  at  the  end  showed  how  weak  his  nerves 
were.  He  was  in  no  condition  to  resume  parish 
work.  Candidates  for  the  pulpit  preached  for  two 
or  three  years,  and  in  May,  1853,  Rev.  Rufus  Ellis 
was  installed  as  sole  minister  of  the  First  Church. 
The  meeting-house  in  Channcy  Place  was  torn  down 


THE  OLD  WORLD. 


I  55 

in  1868,  and  a  new  dispensation  of  Unitarianism 
ensued,  more  “  evangelical  ”  than  Dr.  Frothingham’s, 
while  the  new  edifice  on  Berkeley  Street  called  for 
a  less  simple  ceremonial  than  had  prevailed  in  Puritan 
times. 

The  next  years  were  uneventful.  The  parish 
work  was  done  by  another;  but  there  was  oppor¬ 
tunity  for  friendly  service  among  the  parishioners, 
and  for  kindly  counsel  and  help  toward  his  new 
successor.  Then  he  could  read  his  books  and  culti¬ 
vate  his  friends. 

In  1859  a  third  tour  of  eighteen  months  in 
Europe  was  made  with  his  wife  and  daughters. 
Some  new  places  were  visited  as  a  tourist  might  do,, 
but  nothing  of  moment  occurred  to  be  recorded. 
In  Borne  he  was  attentive  to  Theodore  Parker,  who 
was  that  winter  trying  desperately  to  recover  his 
health  in  the  “  Eternal  City.”  It  was  in  the  course 
of  this  journey-  that  Dr.  Frothingham  became  first 
aware  of  a  defect  in  his  own  vision.  He  could, 
not  enjoy  picture-galleries,  saw  figures  distorted 
and  colors  blurred;  but  his  sweetness  of  disposi¬ 
tion  turned  this  off,  and  even  made  fun  of  it. 
Still  he  felt  uneasy,  and  finding  that  the  disability 
was  due  to  no  local  or  incidental  cause,  con¬ 
sulted  the  best  oculists  in  Paris  and  London,  but 
without  success,  as  no  disease  was  visible  in  the 
organ  itself.  The  malady  afterwards  proved  to  be 
more  deeply  seated,  but  when  he  came  home  in  the 
autumn  of  1860,  the  dimness,  though  increased,  was 


1 56 


BOSTON  UNIT  A  RIA  NISM. 


not  alarming.  The  event  was  not  anticipated  by  any¬ 
body,  and  the  malady  itself  was  quite  forgotten  in 
the  joy  of  getting  home  ;  for  home  meant  peace  and 
friendship  and  quiet  studies  and  tranquil  thoughts 
and  loving  duties  and  sweet  cares.  There  was,  in 
all  his  wanderings,  the  last  as  well  as  the  first,  a 
longing  for  these,  that  is  expressed  in  the  following 
little  poem,  one  of  several  written  in  the  Old  World, 
and  expressing  his  deep  affection  for  the  New,  an 
affection  which  all  his  companions  felt,  for  they  were 
devoted  friends  of  republican  institutions,  staunch 
defenders  of  intellectual  liberty,  all  ardent  advocates 
of  intellectual  liberty,  and  serious  champions  of 
social  and  domestic  virtue.  The  great  words,  “home,” 
“  peace,”  “  order,”  “  union,”  “  love,”  “  enlightenment,” 
were  dear  to  them.  They  abhorred  violence,  discord, 
disruption,  and,  if  they  were  conservatives,  were  con¬ 
servative  of  what  seemed  to  them  altogether  good ; 
and  although  to  ardent  reformers  it  did  not  appear 
to  be  the  best  by  any  means,  yet  there  is  something 
touching  in  the  patient  allegiance  of  these  men  to 
the  primeval  virtues.  They  adhered  to  certain  car¬ 
dinal  sentiments,  dreading  innovation  because  it  in¬ 
volved  uncertainty.  They  were  not  valiant  men. 
On  the  contrary,  they  were  timid  and  apprehensive, 
fearful  of  change.  They  did  not  see  far  or  search 
deeply.  They  took  for  granted  many  things  in  reli¬ 
gion  and  in  society  that  are  disputed  now.  They 
were  not  more  comfort-loving  than  others,  but  they 
kept  behind  the  intrenchments,  and  did  not  venture 


THE  OLD  WORLD . 


*57 


beyond  the  lines.  Agnosticism  was  unheard  of,  nor 
could  they  conceive  of  a  religious  man  who  was  a 
doubter  of  the  Christian  authority  or  the  leading 
tenets  of  theism.  Naturalism  was  a  thing  abhorred, 
and  the  least  approach  to  Socialism  was  detested. 
They  snuggled  in  the  nest  of  faith.  This  nest  was 
composed  of  the  refuse  of  larger  growths — of  twigs, 
straws,  leaves,  an  occasional  flower,  a  bit  of  sprig ; 
but  they  were  happy  in  it,  for  the  permanent  part 
consisted  of  home  feelings,  of  sympathy,  affection, 
sweetness,  peace,  hopefulness,  placid  contentment, 
submission  to  a  divine  will,  cheerful  anticipation  of 
immortality. 

HOMEWARD  FROM  FOREIGN  LANDS. 

“  Then  I  said,  I  shall  die  in  my  nest.” — Job  xxix.,  18. 


There  are  they  who  have  left  their  sweet  home, 
Through  these  strange,  distant  places  to  roam, 

And  no  more  back,  no  more,  ever  come  ; 

And  I  sigh  with  their  memory  oppressed, 

“  Let  me  die  in  my  nest.” 

When  the  troubles  of  nature  are  rife, 

And  the  heart  with  itself  is  at  strife, 

For  then  Death  is  in  conflict  with  Life, 

I  submit  to  the  sovereign  behest, 

But  would  die  in  my  nest. 

Where  within  me  the  first  thoughts  were  dreamed, 
And  upon  me  Affection  first  beamed, 

And  through  blossoms  and  tears  my  spring  teemed  ; 
Amid  scenes  and  companions  loved  best, 

I  would  die  in  my  nest. 


158 


BOSTON  UNITARIANISM. 


Not  in  lands  with  a  speech  not  my  own, 

Where  the  sights  that  are  newest  look  lone  ; 

But  where  all  most  familiar  had  grown 
To  my  eyes  and  the  throbs  of  my  breast, — 

Shall  I  die  in  that  nest  ? 

They  will  say  :  “  It  is  one  to  the  wise  v 

From  what  country  the  freed  spirit  flies, 

For  the  way  is  the  same  to  the  skies  ”  ; 

Truths  to  faith  and  to  reason  addressed, — 

But  alas  !  for  the  nest. 

Oh,  methinks  it  would  glad  the  last  gaze, 

To  be  circled  with  friends  of  old  days, 

And  the  spots  that  are  gilt  with  the  rays 
That  stream  from  the  sun  of  the  West 
O’er  the  down  of  my  nest  ! 

And  I  hear  a  propitious  decree  ; 

And  the  blessing  I  hoped  for  shall  be  ; 

For  I  smell  the  wide  air  of  the  sea. 

There  is  land  o’er  the  waves’  foamy  crest : 

“  I  shall  die  in  my  nest.” 


Thus  far  Dr.  Frothingham’s  lot  had  been  a  happy 
one.  He  belonged  to  an  honored  profession ;  he 
was  most  respected  ;  he  was  cordially  beloved,  as  a 
charming  person;  his  temperament  was  sunny;  his 
home  was  peaceful  and  affectionate.  He  lived  in  a 
delightful  street,  well  called  “  Summer  ” — a  street 
of  gardens,  and  elm  trees  that  branched  over  so 
as  almost  to  meet  across  the  way  ;  with  Edward 
Everett  next  door,  and  excellent  people  on  either 
side.  An  air  of  Oriental  magnificence  was  imparted 
by  Mr.  Cushing’s  Chinese  servants  in  their  native 
dress. 


VIII. 


THE  FREEDOM  OF  FRIENDSHIP. 

The  literary  quality  of  this  form  of  Unitarianism 
is  nowhere  better  seen  than  in  the  spirit  of  natural 
friendliness  that  took  the  place  of  sectarian  combi¬ 
nation.  Of  course  this  was  confined  to  the  cultivated 
men,  for  with  humanity  at  large  there  was  no  active 
sympathy.  There  was  pity  but  little  fellowship. 
Here,  too,  I  must  take  my  father  as  a  representative ; 
who,  though  he  was  more  poetical  than  his  compan¬ 
ions,  illustrated  their  breadth  of  interest.  With 
Henry  W.  Longfellow  there  was  always  an  affection¬ 
ate  intimacy  ;  partly  due  to  the  professor’s  position 
in  the  neighboring  college  of  Harvard ;  partly  to  the 
poet’s  genius ;  but  more  to  the  warm,  exuberant 
temper  of  the  man  and  his  enthusiastic  interest  in  all 
humane  learning.  He  was  delighted  to  meet  Corne¬ 
lius  C.  Felton,  “  heartiest  of  Greek  professors,”  as 
Dickens  called  him, 

So  wholly  Greek  wast  thou  in  thy  serene 
And  childlike  joy  of  life,  O  Philhellene  ! 

to  quote  Longfellow’s  sonnet  to  him.  W.  H.  Pres¬ 
cott  was  a  loved  form.  Ticknor  was  admired  for 


159 


i6o 


BOSTON  UNIT A RIA NISM. 


his  knowledge  of  letters,  and  Hillard  for  his  elegant 
scholarship,  and  Everett  for  his  fine  taste  and  his 
eloquence,  and  Palfrey  for  his  erudition,  and  Ban¬ 
croft  for  his  brilliancy.  The  clerical  intimacy  was 
large.  In  an  unpublished  poem,  written  some  fifty 
years  ago,  there  is  a  sketch  of  “  nine  worthies,” — S. 
K.  Lothrop,  Chandler  Bobbins,  Ezra  S.  Gannett, 
Ephraim  Peabody,  Cyrus  A.  Bartol,  George  Putnam, 
William  P.  Lunt,  James  Walker,  Alexander  Young. 
In  an  old  album  of  portraits  I  find  photographic 
likenesses  of  Dr.  Kirkland,  Dr.  Pierce,  Dr.  Freeman, 
Dr.  Porter,  Dr.  Harris,  Dr.  Gray,  Dr.  Channing,  Dr. 
Lowell,  Dr.  Parkman,  Dr.  Ware,  Dr.  Greenwood, 
James  Walker,  John  Pierpont,  S.  K.  Lothrop,  Chand¬ 
ler  Bobbins,  E.  S.  Gannett,  Cyrus  A.  Bartol,  E.  Pea¬ 
body,  Samuel  Barrett,  Wm.  P.  Lunt,  George  E.  Ellis, 
Alexander  Young,  Con  vers  Francis,  Jared  Sparks, 
B.  W.  Emerson,  George  Bipley,  F.  II.  Hedge,  Or¬ 
ville  Dewey,  Bufus  Ellis,  Edward  E.  Hale,  T.  S. 
King,  Theodore  Parker,  F.  D.  Huntington — a  rich 
brotherhood,  and  miscellaneous ;  but  the  unsectarian 
heart  embraced  them  all,  having  regard  more  to  the 
purpose  than  the  creed,  though  this  too,  within  Chris¬ 
tianity,  was  imperative.  Of  those  with  whom  my 
father  was  more  or  less  intimate,  some  are  the  sub¬ 
jects  of  written  memoirs,  some  are  illustrious,  some 
are  comparatively  unknown.  All  had  high  ideal 
aims.  Everett  was  originally  a  clergyman  ;  so  was 
Palfrey ;  so  was  Sparks.  Geo.  Bancroft  thought  of 
the  ministry  at  one  time,  and  preached  several  ser- 


THE  FREEDOM  OF  FRIENDSHIP.  l6l 

mons.  The  names  of  Samuel  Barrett  and  Caleb  Stet¬ 
son  are  almost  forgotten  now ;  but  once  they  were 
important  and  even  conspicuous  men.  His  friend, 
Lewis  G.  Pray,  wrote  a  memoir  of  the  first,  editing, 
along  with  it,  ten  of  his  excellent  sermons ;  and  the 
other — a  witty,  genial,  humane  man,  did  good  service 
as  an  opponent  of  slavery,  and  a  transcendentalist. 

There  are  still  traditions  of  the  wit  of  Fraxcis 
Parkmax,  but  how  few  know  that  he  was  one  of  the 
eminent  characters  of  his  time  !  He  studied  theology 
under  the  direction  of  W.  E.  Channing,  entered  his 
name  in  the  school  of  divinity  at  Edinburgh,  and,  in 
the  course  of  the  session  there,  read  a  discourse  that 
received  the  approbation  of  the  professor.  In  1812 
he  preached  several  Sundays  for  the  Unitarian  society 
in  Liverpool,  of  which  Mr.  Lewis  was  pastor,  and 
with  such  acceptance  that  he  was  invited  to  remain 
as  associate  minister.  Declining  this  call  he  came 
home,  preached  for  a  considerable  period  at  the  First 
Church  in  Boston,  then  vacant  by  the  death  of  Wil¬ 
liam  Emerson.  Soon  after,  he  was  ordained  and 
installed  as  pastor  of  the  Hew  Horth  Church,  in 
Hanover  Street,  as  successor  to  Dr.  Eliot.  Mr.  Chan¬ 
ning,  his  old  instructor,  preached  the  sermon  of  ordi¬ 
nation.  Mr.  Parkman  (he  was  made  a  D.D.  by 
Harvard  College  in  1834)  was  a  man  of  various 
information,  a  kind  spirit,  singular  benevolence,  pol¬ 
ished  yet  simple  manners,  fine  literary  taste.  He 
was  a  small  figure,  with  a  pleasant  voice,  a  gracious 
manner,  and  an  expressive  face.  He  was  subject  to 


BOSTON  UNI TA RIA N ISM. 


162 

moods  of  depression,  as  men  of  mercurial  and  humor¬ 
ous  disposition  are  apt  to  be.  Rev.  F.  D.  Huntington 
(now  Bishop  of  Central  New  York)  wrote  this  of  him 
in  1854  to  Rev.  Dr.  Sprague,  author  of  “  Annals  of 
the  American  Pulpit.”  Mr.  Huntington  was  then  a 
Unitarian  minister. 

His  pleasant  familiarity  never  transgressed  the  bounds  of 
perfect  courtesy  ;  and,  even  in  the  less  restrained  hours  of  in¬ 
timate  fellowship,  something  was  always  present  in  his  deport¬ 
ment  to  betoken  his  excellent  professional  breeding.  It  was 
his  custom,  indeed,  to  insist  with  considerable  scrupulousness, 
on  those  clerical  proprieties  and  formalities  that  formerly, 
more  than  now,  distinguished  the  ministerial  vocation  ;  and 
those  whose  taste  in  other  respects  was  less  exacting  than  his 
own,  will  long  remember  the  good-natured  rebukes  with  which 
he  pursued  their  departures  from  the  ancient  rule. 


He  loved  Scriptural  quotations  in  all  conjunctures,  and  was 
sometimes  tempted  to  use  them  rather  by  their  appositeness, 
than  by  the  solemnity  of  the  circumstances.  He  kept  the 
attention  of  the  company  always  awake  by  piquant  terms  of 
expression  and  quaint  phrases,  nor  was  his  wit  or  eloquence 
wanting  when  the  tone  of  the  talk  was  raised.  He  had  an 
admirable  faculty  of  describing  the  peculiarities  of  public 
men,  and  the  former  events  with  which  he  had  been  con¬ 
versant.  Of  personal  anecdotes  he  held  at  command  a  large 
fund.  These  remarkable  conversational  gifts,  together  with 
his  gentle  social  connections,  contributed  to  the  eminence  of 
his  position,  both  in  England,  where  he  was  much  respected, 
and  among  literary  associations  at  home.  As  a  preacher,  Dr. 
Parkman  was  uniformly  serious  and  practical.  In  his  long 
ministry  at  the  “  New  North,”  his  fidelity  and  devotion  were 
untiring,  as  both  the  living  and  the  dead  would  affirm.  There 
was  great  method  in  his  habits.  He  was  a  genuine  respecter 


THE  FREEDOM  OF  FRIENDSHIP. 


163 

of  humble  virtue.  He  honored  the  poor  saints.  He  blessed 
the  widow  and  the  fatherless.  He  was  prompt  in  all  the  affairs 
of  consolation  and  charity.  Family  wealth  never  weakened 
his  work,  nor  enticed  him  to  forget  the  claims  of  the  least 
conspicuous  of  his  flock,  and  that  is  no  light  honour  to  his 
Christian  conscience  ;  but  it  did  make  him  the  constant  and 
munificent  guardian  of  penury  and  distress. 

*••••••••• 

Every  aspect  of  suffering  touched  him  tenderly.  There  was 
no  hard  spot  in  his  breast.  His  house  was  the  centre  of 
countless  mercies  to  the  various  forms  of  want  ;  and  there 
were  few  solicitors  of  alms,  local  or  itinerant,  and  whether  for 
private  necessity  or  public  benefactions,  that  his  door  did  not 
welcome  and  send  away  satisfied. 

•  ••  ••••••• 

In  the  Trinitarian  controversy  he  did  his  share  on  the  Uni¬ 
tarian  side.  For  nearly  half  a  century  he  contributed  more  or 
less  to  the  principal  religious  and  theological  publications  of 
his  denomination.  The  processes  of  his  mind  were  practical, 
however,  rather  than  speculative.  His  style  was  not  wanting 
in  force,  but  distinguished  rather  for  clearness  and  ease. 

Many  of  his  papers  were  biographical,  narrative,  or  com¬ 
memorative.  He  looked  at  the  varied  questions  of  Theology, 
and  at  ideas  and  principles,  very  much  in  their  relation  to 
persons.  He  spoke  extemporaneously  with  great  readiness 
and  often. 

*••••••••• 

Harvard  University,  of  which  he  was  an  Overseer  and  fre¬ 
quent  visitor,  was  very  dear  to  his  heart,  and  its  concerns 
touched  his  personal  pride.  Throughout  he  was  a  zealous  and 
consistent  friend  of  the  Unitarian  movement  ;  but  was  too 
catholic  in  his  feelings  to  favour  an  exclusive  policy  towards 
any  Christian  sect. 

Those  who  ever  joined  in  Dr.  Parkman’s  public  prayers, 
would  feel  any  notice  of  him  to  be  incomplete  that  did  not 


164 


BOSTON  UNI I' A RIA N ISM. 


advert  to  the  beautiful  and  affecting  union  of  fervour  and 
simplicity,  biblical  phraseology  and  varied  allusions  with  ever 
appropriate  reference  to  circumstances  and  persons,  which 
marked  his  petitions  and  thanksgivings.  I  remember  that  the 
Rev.  Dr.  Henry  Ware,  Jr.,  professor  at  Cambridge,  on  the 
Parkman  foundation,  procured  from  him  a  letter  giving  his 
conceptions  of  that  exercise,  and  his  own  mode  of  preparation, 
and  that  this  letter  was  read  by  Dr.  Ware  to  the  successive 
classes  of  students  in  the  Theological  School. 

Edwin  P.  Whipple,  an  excellent  critic  and  a  candid 
judge,  expressed  himself  as  follows  : 

His  prime  quality  was  humour  ;  and  humour,  not  merely  as  a 
power  of  his  mind,  but  as  an  element  of  his  character,  and  an 
instinct  of  his  nature.  In  him  it  seemed  made  up  of  feeling 
and  insight  in  equal  proportions.  In  its  most  intellectual 
manifestations  it  evinced  that  its  source  was  in  a  kindly, 
tolerant,  and  beneficent  disposition ;  that  it  loved  while  it 
laughed.  Whether  he  conversed  on  theology  or  politics,  or 
manners,  or  individual  character,  or  recorded  some  sad  or 
pleasant  experience  of  his  own,  the  wise  and  genial  humorist 
was  always  observable,  softening,  enlivening,  enriching  every 
thing  he  touched.  His  practical  discernment  was  so  sure  and 
keen,  his  knowledge  of  the  world  was  so  extensive,  and  his 
perceptions  of  character  and  motives  were  so  quick  and  deep, 
that  it  was  impossible  to  impose  on  him  by  any  pretence  or 
deception.  With  all  his  subtilty,  however,  in  detecting  the 
weaknesses  of  men,  there  was  nothing  of  the  satirist  in  his  dis¬ 
position  ;  and  those  who  were  the  objects  of  his  shrewd  but 
kindly  humour  seemed  to  enjoy  it  as  much  as  others.  He  so 
softly  let  a  man  down  from  the  stilts  of  his  rhetoric,  or  pierced 
the  bubbles  of  his  declamation  with  such  smiling  tact,  that  the 
person  felt  the  mists  of  his  self-delusion  scattered  as  by  sun¬ 
light.  It  was  impossible  to  meet  Dr.  Parkman  in  the  street, 
and  stop  a  minute  to  exchange  words  with  him,  without  carry- 


THE  FREEDOM  OF  FRIENDSHIP.  1 65 

ing  away  with  you  some  phrase  or  turn  of  thought,  so  exquisite 
in  its  mingled  sagacity  and  humour  that  it  touched  the  inmost 
sense  of  the  ludicrous  and  made  the  heart  smile  as  well  as  the 
lips.  Indeed,  in  this  respect,  he  continually  reminded  me  of 
some  of  the  greatest  and  most  genial  humorists  in  literature, — 
of  Addison  and  Goldsmith,  of  Lamb  and  Irving.  In  the  com¬ 
monest  conversation,  his  mastery  of  the  felicities  of  humorous 
expression  was  quite  a  marvel.  Without  the  slightest  hesita¬ 
tion,  sentence  after  sentence  would  glide  from  his  tongue, 
indicating  the  most  consummate  command  of  the  resources  of 
language,  and  every  word  moistened  with  the  richest  humour, 
and  edged  with  the  most  refined  wit.  His  voice,  in  its  sweet, 
mild,  unctuous  smoothness,  aided  the  effect  of  his  expression. 
His  style  in  conversation,  unlike  his  style  in  his  writings, 
evinced  a  creative  mind.  It  was  individual,  original,  teeming 
with  felicities  of  verbal  combination,  and  flexible  to  the  most 
delicate  variations  of  his  thought.  Though  it  owed  no  small 
portion  of  its  charm  to  his  inimitable  manner,  it  still,  if  literally 
reported,  would  have  possessed  sufficient  vitality  and  richness 
to  indicate,  better  than  any  printed  memorials  of  his  powers, 
his  real  wealth  of  thought,  observation,  experience,  and 
knowledge. 

James  T.  Fields  used  to  delight  in  repeating  a 
charming  illustration  of  Dr.  Parkman’s  mingled 
gravity  and  humor.  He  said  that  when  he  first 
came  into  service  as  a  young  store  clerk  in  the 
Corner  Book  Store,  Dr.  Parkman,  who  was  a  stranger 
to  him  entered,  and  addressed  him  thus : 

“  I  am  in  want,  as  a  gift  for  a  maiden  who  is  about  to  be 
married,  of  a  copy  of  a  book  once  held  in  high  regard,  but 
now,  I  grieve  to  say,  much  neglected  and  forgotten — the  Holy 
Bible,  an  Oxford  edition,  well  clothed  in  its  binding,  appointed 
to  be  read  in  churches.  Have  you  one  ?  ”  The  youth  looked  at 


BOSTON  UNIT  A  RIA  NISM. 


1 66 

him  in  awe,  and  climbing  a  ladder,  took  down  a  copy  from  a 
top  shelf.  Being  not  then  familiar  with  the  private  trade-mark 
giving  the  price  of  the  book,  he  scanned  the  markon  the  inner 
cover,  and  raised  his  eyes  musingly  to  interpret  it.  Dr.  Park- 
man,  as  if  protestingly,  said  :  “  My  young  friend,  you  need  not 
invoke  divine  aid  in  fixing  a  high  price  on  that  volume.  It 
seems  to  me  a  little  shop-worn.” 

Here  is  another  good  story.  Dr.  Parkman  was 
walking  with  a  fat  brother ;  the  day  was  warm  ;  the 
companion  panted,  wiped  his  face  with  his  handker¬ 
chief,  and  manifested  other  signs  of  suffering.  Dr. 
Parkman  said  to  him  : 

“  My  friend,  it  has  pleased  Divine  Providence  to  endow  you 
with  an  ample  fleshly  integument.  How  happy  you  must  be 
to  remember  the  apostolic  promise  that  we  shall  be  changed!  ” 

Alexander  Young  used  to  be  a  prominent  per¬ 
sonality  in  this  Zion.  I  can  see  him  now,  with  his 
rather  short  but  broad,  thick,  stocky,  and  seemingly 
robust  frame,  his  portly  shape  and  somewhat  heavy 
features,  walking,  with  stately  tread,  down  Summer 
Street,  where  he  lived  and  where  his  meeting-house 
stood.  He  was  a  scholar,  and  not  in  New  England 
history  alone.  I  remember  his  expressing  an  opin¬ 
ion  about  a  nice  point  in  French  pronunciation  at 
our  house  one  day.  He  lived  but  fifty-four  years, 
and  did  an  immense  amount  of  work.  He  was  the 
son  of  a  printer,  was  educated  at  the  Boston  Latin 
School,  left  Harvard  College  in  1820,  the  companion 
of  E.  S.  Gfannett,  W.  Id.  Furness,  E.  B.  Hall,  leaders 
of  the  Unitarian  faith,  studied  divinity,  was  ap- 


THE  FREEDOM  OF  FRIENDSHIP. 


1 67 


proved  by  the  Boston  Association,  and  from  the 
start  was  so  popular  as  a  preacher  that  in  two 
months  after  entering  the  profession  he  received  two 
invitations,  one  from  the  Twelfth  Congregational 
Society,  the  other  from  the  New  South.  The  last 
he  accepted,  and  became  the  successor  of  Kirkland, 
Thatcher,  and  Greenwood.  Here  he  preached  nearly 
thirty  years — from  1825  till  1854,  and  was  so  little 
polemical  or  doctrinal  that  he  did  not  care  to  make 
any  public  statement  in  regard  to  the  details  of  be¬ 
lief.  His  main  interest,  outside  of  his  profession, 
was  history.  The  series  of  “  Selections  from  the 
Old  English  Prose  Writers,”  in  nine  volumes,  pub¬ 
lished  in  1839,  not  only  showed  great  powers  of  dis¬ 
cernment  and  a  delicate  appreciation,  but  helped  to 
educate  people  up  to  such  masterpieces  as  Sir  Thomas 
Browne’s  “  Urn  Burial,”  Sir  Philip  Sidney’s  “  De¬ 
fence  of  Poesie,”  F uller’s  “  Holy  State.”  His  “  Chroni¬ 
cles  of  the  Pilgrim  Fathers  of  the  Colony  of  Plymouth 
from  1602  to  1625  ” — published  in  1841  (a  second 
edition  appeared  in  1844) — elicited  warm  commenda¬ 
tion  from  so  exalted  a  judge  as  Hon.  R.  C.  Winthrop. 
In  1846  was  published  “  Chronicles  of  the  First 
Planters  of  the  Colony  of  Massachusetts  Bay,  from 
1623  to  1626.”  Materials  for  two  other  works  were 
collected,  and  the  works  themselves  planned :  “  Chroni¬ 
cles  of  the  First  Planters  of  the  Colony  of  Virginia, 
from  the  First  Voyage  of  Discovery  in  1584  to  the 
Dissolution  of  the  Virginia  Company  in  1624  ”  ;  and 
“  Chronicles  of  Maritime  Discovery  on  the  Coasts  of 


1 68  BOSTON  UNI TA  RIA N ISM. 

North  America,”  but  untimely  death  prevented  the 
execution  of  either  of  these  tasks.  The  volumes 
published  showed  extensive  and  accurate  knowledge, 
extraordinary  zeal  in  research,  singular  impartiality 
of  judgment,  great  activity  of  mind  in  the  direction 
of  literary  achievement,  a  strong  inclination  towards 
ethical  as  distinguished  from  speculative  subjects,  a 
passionate  love  of  books  and  elegant  letters.  A 
contemporary  remembers  him  as  a  “  highly  gifted 
and  accomplished  man,”  and  praises  his  “  gentle¬ 
manly  manners  ”  and  the  “  genial  and  kindly  tone  of 
his  spirit.”  Dr.  Young — he  was  made  a  Doctor  of 
Divinity  in  1846  by  Harvard  College — was  decid¬ 
edly  Unitarian,  of  a  conservative  stamp,  but  was 
never  sufficiently  interested  in  dogmatic  questions  to 
take  a  prominent  part  in  controversy.  Such  agita¬ 
tion  was  not  conducive  to  his  favorite  pursuits,  to 
say  nothing  of  a  constitutional  dislike  to  extreme 
opinions.  One  does  not  hear  of  him  in  connection 
with  new  schemes  of  philosophy  or  movements  for 
social  reform.  His  faith  was  in  slow  methods  of  in¬ 
fluence,  in  education,  cultivation,  the  spread  of  intel¬ 
ligence,  the  increase  of  self-respect.  With  the  whole 
weight  of  his  moral  sentiments  he  repudiated  Cal¬ 
vinism,  thus  exalting  the  natural  mind  above  ecclesi¬ 
astical  authority  as  it  existed  in  his  time,  without 
pushing  the  lines  of  logical  inference  further  towards 
their  conclusion,  as  Parker,  for  example,  did.  With 
neither  Channingnor  Emerson  was  he  in  sympathy; 
but  he  used  faithfully  every  gospel  appliance  for 


THE  FREEDOM  OF  FRIENDSHIP. 


169 


elevating  and  reforming  mankind.  His  attitude 
toward  Scriptural  authority  is  explicity  declared  in 
a  sermon  preached  at  the  ordination  of  Rev.  George 
Edward  Ellis,  as  pastor  of  the  Harvard  Church,  in 
Charlestown,  March  11,  1840: 

The  Christian  minister  is  to  preach  the  declarations  and 
statements,  the  doctrines  and  principles  of  the  Gospel.  In  his 
view,  religion  is  identified  with  Christianity,  and  he  values 
Christianity  because  it  gives  him  assurance  of  certain  truths 
which  he  regards  as  of  infinite  importance.  These  truths  con¬ 
stitute  his  religion.  .  .  .  All  our  knowledge  of  Christ  and 

Christianity  is  derived,  not  from  consciousness  or  intuition, 
but  from  outward  revelation.  It  is  not  innate,  spontaneous, 
and  original  with  us,  but  extrinsic,  derived,  superinduced. 
.  .  .  Once  admit  that  the  New  Testament  does  not  contain 

all  the  principles  of  spiritual  truth  .  .  .  and  you  open  the 

door  to  all  sorts  of  loose  and  crude  speculations.  .  .  .  The 
old  heathen  sages,  it  is  true,  stumbled  on  some  fortunate  conjec¬ 
tures,  and  made  some  happy  guesses,  but  they  could  assert 
nothing  with  assurance  ;  they  could  not  speak  with  certainty 
and  authority. 

This  is  the  very  ground  taken  in  Mr.  Horton’s 
“The  Latest  form  of  Infidelity,”  1839.  Mr.  Ellis’ 
sermon  on  Hr.  Young,  preached  at  “  Church  Green” 
on  March  26,  1854,  the  Sunday  after  the  interment, 
reiterated  the  same  ideas  : 

With  an  intense  and  unwavering  conviction  he  held  to  the 
divine  mission  of  Jesus  Christ,  confirmed  by  miracles,  illus¬ 
trated  by  inspired  teachings,  and  made  essential  to  us  by  our 
spiritual  needs  and  by  the  imperfection  and  insufficiency  of  all 
earthly  dependence. 


170  BOSTON  UNIT  A  RIA  NISM. 

At  Dr.  Young’s  death  there  was  a  general  expres¬ 
sion  of  bereavement.  F uneral  discourses  were  deliv¬ 
ered,  tributes  were  paid,  notices  were  written,  the 
newspapers  spoke  in  his  praise,  and  he  who  had 
shown  such  excellent  judgment  in  celebrating  dis¬ 
tinguished  men  was  himself  distinguished.  Dr. 
William  B.  Sprague  gave  him  a  place  among  the 
eminent  Unitarian  divines  in  his  “  Annals  of  the 
American  Pulpit  ”  ;  Hon.  Robert  C.  Winthrop,  who 
had  known  him  well  for  several  years,  wrote  of  his 
“  sterling  qualities,”  and  said  : 

No  man  among  us  had  a  more  familiar  acquaintance  with 
the  treasures  of  English  literature.  The  series  of  selections 
from  the  Old  Prose  Writers,  which  he  published  in  1839,  gave 
ample  proof  of  his  careful  discrimination  and  refined  taste, 
while  it  introduced  to  the  reading  community  of  our  country 
some  of  the  choicest  productions  of  the  English  language.  I 
have  a  vivid  remembrance  of  my  own  sense  of  personal  in¬ 
debtedness  to  him,  as  I  read,  for  the  first  time,  in  this  edition, 
such  works  as  Feltham’s  “Resolves,”  and  Fuller’s  “Holy 
State,”  and  Sir  Philip  Sidney’s  “  Defence  of  Poesie,”  and  Sir 
Thomas  Browne’s  “  Urn  Burial.” 

Mr.  James  Bussell  Lowell  took  pleasure  in  con¬ 
fessing  that  he  owed  much  to  the  same  collection. 

Dr.  Young  took  an  active  interest  in  every  thing 
that  concerned  the  highest  education.  He  was  Vice- 
President  of  the  Boston  Latin  School  Association ; 
a  member  of  the  Board  of  Overseers  of  Harvard 
College,  and  Secretary  of  the  Board  after  1849  ;  a 
director  in  the  Society  for  Promoting  Theological 
Education ;  Corresponding  Secretary  of  the  Massa- 


THE  FREEDOM  OF  FRIENDSHIP. 


171 


chusetts  Historical  Society ;  and  a  member  of  various 
historical  societies  in  other  States.  His  heart  was 
as  warm  as  his  head  was  bright.  He  was  President 
of  the  Society  for  Promoting  Christian  Knowledge, 
Piety,  and  Charity  ;  a  member  of  the  Massachusetts 
Congregational  Charitable  Society  ;  a  member  of  the 
Society  for  Propagating  the  Gospel  among  the  Indi¬ 
ans  and  Others  in  North  America ;  and  in  all  these 
offices  he  was  a  faithful  servant.  His  library  w~as 
handsomely  stored  with  books,  which  were  his  de¬ 
light,  and  his  life  was  in  full  accord  with  his  teach¬ 
ing.  He  was  universally  respected  as  a  man,  and 
much  relied  on  as  a  pastor,  and  is  an  admirable 
example  of  that  mingling  of  culture  and  character 
which  marked  the  Unitarian  ministers. 

Hr.  Young  had  humor  also.  He  did  enjoy  a  joke 
or  a  funny  story.  Just  before  his  last  sickness  he 
was  at  a  friend’s  house  in  Charlestown,  making  merry 
over  a  newspaper  story  of  an  old  woman  who  com¬ 
plained  of  having  the  “  brown  critters.”  As  he  left 
the  door  to  walk  home  he  said,  laughing  :  “  I  hope 
I  shall  not  be  attacked  by  the  brown  critters.” 
Alas,  he  was.  That  night  he  took  a  cold  which  led 
to  a  fatal  illness.  Ten  years  after  his  death  his 
meeting-house  was  taken  down;  George  E.  Ellis 
delivered  the  last  sermon  in  it,  and  Hr.  Frothingham 
wrote  a  hymn  of  parting,  which  is  printed  in  the 
second  series  of  the  “  Metrical  Pieces.” 

William  Parsons  Hunt  was  also  a  power.  He  was 
not  even  so  old  as  Alexander  Young,  when  he  died ; 


I  72 


BOSTON  UNI TA RIANISM. 


for  lie  was  born  in  1805,  and  passed  away  at  Akab&h, 
the  ancient  Ezion-Geber,  on  the  eastern  estuary  at 
the  bead  of  the  Red  Sea,  in  1857,  within  a  month 
of  fifty-one  years  of  age.  His  grandfather,  Henry 
Lunt,  was  a  favorite  officer  of  Paul  Jones,  who  fought 
in  the  JBonhomme  Richard,  took  part  in  the  capture 
of  the  Serapis,  and  did  good  service  in  the  war  of 
the  Revolution.  The  grandson  had  nothing  of  the 
soldier  in  his  composition.  Even  on  the  field  of 
theology  he  brandished  no  weapon,  though  filled 
with  the  earnest  conviction  that  might  have  prompted 
him  to  strike  down  an  enemy.  He  was  a  quiet,, 
grave,  silent  man,  introspective,  undemonstrative, 
pensive  ;  a  man  of  brooding  and  apprehensive  mind, 
of  warm  religious  feeling,  of  fastidious  intellectual 
proclivities.  My  father  was  very  fond  of  him,  and 
placed  him  among  his  “  nine  worthies  ”  in  the  poem 
above  referred  to.  Here  is  his  description  : 

A  “  rural  bishop  ”  now, 

With  pale  and  furrowed  brow, 

Draws  up  his  chair  beside  my  bed. 

The  cloudy  orb  Saturn 
Drips  from  its  leaden  urn 
Its  damps  on  his  fine  nature  and  clear  head. 

Long  will  he  silent  sit, 

If  no  inspiring  fit 
Rouse  him  to  animated  speech. 

His  low  unfrequent  laugh. 

Half  gay  and  plaintive  half, 

Rolls  like  grave  ocean  toying  with  the  beach. 

But  give  a  quickening  theme, 

And  wake  him  out  of  dream, 


THE  FREEDOM  OF  FRIENDSHIP . 


173 


And  you  shall  feel  what  magic  power 
Of  skilled  melodious  tongue, 

And  energies  full  strong, 

Has  genius  in  its  high,  ascendant  hour. 


Rhetor  and  poet  too, 

With  taste  severely  true, 

He  writes  for  those  who  can  judge  well  : — 

But  when  his  periods  glance 
With  burning  utterance, 

Both  taught  and  untaught  feel  the  binding  spell. 

9 

The  fine  hymn,  the  most  beautiful  in  my  opinion 
that  N.  L.  Frothingham  ever  composed, 


O  God,  whose  presence  glows  in  all, 

Within,  around  us,  and  above, 

Thy  word  we  bless,  thy  name  we  call, 

Whose  word  is  Truth,  whose  name  is  Love, 


was  written  for  Mr.  Lunt’s  ordination  in  New  York, 
on  the  19th  of  June,  1828  ;  and  the  other  hymn, 


We  meditate  the  day 
Of  triumph  and  of  rest, 

When,  shown  of  God  and  shaped  in  clay, 
The  word  was  manifest  ! 


was  written  for  his  installation  at  Quincy,  June  3, 
1835.  Both,  but  particularly  the  latter,  show  the 
character  of  the  Unitarian  faith  as  respects  the 
nature  of  Christ  and  the  authority  of  the  evangeli¬ 
cal  record.  When  Dr.  Lunt  died  at  AkaMh,  on  his 
way  to  the  Holy  Land,  March  20,  1857,  my  father 
wrote  the  following  touching  “  Lament :  ” 


174 


BOSTON  UNIT  A  RIA  NISM. 


A  LAMENT. 

FOR  REV.  WILLIAM  PARSONS  LUNT,  D.D. 

A  wail  from  beyond  the  desert  ! 

A  wail  from  across  the  sea  ! 

The  home  he  left, 

Bereft,  bereft, 

For  evermore  must  be. 

As  spread  the  heavy  tidings, 

How  many  a  heart  grows  sore, 

That  the  eloquent  grace 
Of  that  pensive  face 
And  that  mellow  voice  is  o’er  ! 

Alas  for  thee,  O  our  brother  ! 

And  for  this  we  sorrow  most, 

That  a  spirit  so  fair 
Must  be  breathed  out  there, 

On  that  stern  Arabian  coast  ; — 

That  a  life  so  all  unforeign — 

To  faith  and  his  country  bound, — 
Turned  dying  eyes 
Upon  Asian  skies, 

And  dropped  on  Moslem  ground. 

Away  for  the  Holy  City 
With  pilgrim  soul  he  trod  ; 

But  nearer  at  hand 
Must  the  pearl  gates  expand 
Of  the  city  new  of  God. 

The  judgment-peak  of  Sinai 
Rose  now  in  the  homeward  West  ; 

Its  shadows  grim 
Had  no  terror  for  him 
As  he  sank  to  his  Christian  rest. 

But,  oh,  that  the  thoughtful  scholar,— 
His  mind  at  its  fullest  noon, — 

That  the  preacher’s  tongue 
And  the  poet’s  song 
Should  pass  away  so  soon  ! 


THE  FREEDOM  OF  FRIENDSHIP. 


175 


Outside  of  his  profession,  in  which  he  was  most 
devoted,  Mr.  Lunt  cultivated  three  fields,  that  of 
philosophy,  that  of  history,  and  that  of  poetry.  The 
first  was  foreshadowed  in  his  “  Forensic,”  on  gra¬ 
duating  from  Harvard,  the  subject  of  which  was, 
“  Whether,  in  Point  of  Morality,  the  Truth  be  a  Justi¬ 
fication  of  an  Alleged  Libel  on  Private  Character.” 
Hr.  Pierce  said  that  it  “  bore  the  palm  in  speaking.” 
It  was  further  illustrated  in  a  sermon  preached  at 
J amaica  Plain,  on  occasion  of  the  installation  of  Bev. 
George  Whitney,  the  subject  of  which  was,  “  The 
Necessity  of  a  Religious  Philosophy  ”  ;  in  an  address 
to  the  alumni  of  the  divinity  school,  in  1852  ;  and 
in  the  Hudleian  lecture,  delivered  in  1855.  This  last 
was  especially  elaborate,  and  was  even  declared  by  a 
contemporary  to  be  among  the  “  most  profound,  brill¬ 
iant,  and  masterly  productions  that  have  illustrated 
the  highest  of  the  sciences,  in  recent  times.” 

His  historical  position,  though  he  produced  no  ex¬ 
tended  work,  is  indicated  by  his  high  esteem  among 
the  members  of  the  Historical  Society,  of  which  he 
was  Corresponding  Secretary. 

His  poetical  leanings  are  indicated  in  his  selection 
as  poet  of  the  Phi  Beta  Kappa  Society,  in  1837,  on 
which  occasion  he  gave  the  poem  called  “  Psyche,” 
afterwards  printed  in  pamphlet  form,  and  in  a  small 
volume  published  by  his  son,  W.  P.  Lunt,  “  Glean¬ 
ings,”  nine  pieces  from  which  are  printed,  by  A.  P. 
Putnam,  in  his  book  entitled  “  Singers  and  Songs  of 
the  Liberal  Faith.”  These  do  not  evidence  an  ex- 


i/6 


BOSTON  UNITARIAN  ISM. 


alted  range  of  genius,  but  show  an  ear  for  melody,  a 
talent  for  rhyme,  and  an  enkindled  spirit.  The 
author’s  type  of  theology  comes  out  in  them,  as  in 
all  his  of  compositions.  His  was  essentially  an  old- 
fashioned  creed,  built  upon  the  text  of  Scripture, 
interpreted  according  to  moral  methods  ;  a  qualifica¬ 
tion  of  the  Puritan  theology,  some  of  the  tenets 
being  discarded,  as  unauthorized  by  the  Bible,  or  un¬ 
sanctioned  by  natural  feeling  and  conviction.  “  He 
was  more  ready  to  accept  than  anxious  to  define 
hallowed  phrases.  .  .  .  His  Puritan  soul  leaned 

back,  as  far  as  it  dared,  towards  ancient  formulas.” 
His  Hudleian  lecture  was  a  strong,  impassioned 
plea  for  a  spiritual  basis  for  religion,  “  Natural  ” 
as  well  as  “  Revealed,”  taking  as  its  subject,  “  The 
Province  and  Functions  of  Faith.”  So  was  the  ad¬ 
dress  to  the  alumni  of  the  divinity  school,  on  “  The 
Faculty  of  Imagination  in  its  Relations  to  Religion.” 
Faith,  he  maintained,  was  independent  of  reason. 
Man  had  a  religious  nature,  a  spiritual  vision,  by 
virtue  of  which  he  could  behold  supersensual  realities 
as  plainly  as  the  physical  orb  discerns  the  material 
world.  The  soul  has  laws  of  its  own  ;  and  faith  is  one 
of  its  organic  endowments.  Science  and  sociology 
are  excellent  in  themselves  and  to  be  heartily  en¬ 
couraged,  but  have  nothing  to  do  with  religion.  The 
method  of  Bacon  was,  on  the  whole,  disastrous  to 
faith,  as  awakening  false  expectations.  Mr.  Lunt’s 
aim  seems  to  have  been  the  necessity  of  finding 
a  philosophical  ground  that  would  justify  the  reli- 


THE  FREEDOM  OF  FRIENDSHIP. 


1 77 


gious  affections, — trust,  veneration,  charity,  desire, 
aspiration,  love  of  the  infinite  and  eternal.  Of 
theology,  christology,  bibliology,  there  was  no 
mention.  A  wide  distinction  is  drawn  between 
Theology  the  rationale  of  religion  and  Religion 
itself.  With  critical  discussions  Mr.  Lunt  appar¬ 
ently  gave  himself  little  concern.  He  took  the 
creed  which  his  sect,  his  education,  or  his  tempera¬ 
ment  provided.  “  Controversial  religion  was  not  to 
his  liking.  The  biblical  neologies  of  our  new  times 
were  an  offense  if  not  an  alarm  to  him.  He  held  the 
literal  Word  reverently  dear,  although  he  endeav¬ 
ored  to  give  it  an  expansive  scope,  and  sought 
underneath  it  the  most  'spiritual  significances.” 
This  quotation  from  my  father’s  tribute  to  him 
before  the  Historical  Society,  implies  a  dread  of 
intellectual  processes  in  religion,  a  distrust  of  the 
critical  faculty,  and  a  disposition  to  cling  to  the 
ancient  standards  of  belief  as  far  as  his  moral  senti¬ 
ments  would  allow.  Secular  themes,  politics  in¬ 
cluded,  were  banished  from  the  pulpit,  but  the 
pastor  did  not  refrain  from  expressing  his  mind  on 
exciting  topics  of  the  day — spiritism  and  abolitionism 
for  example, — and  his  opinion  was  by  no  means 
favorable  to  these,  or  any  other  disturbers  of  the 
peace. 

This  extreme  conservatism,  in  a  time  of  excite¬ 
ment,  somewhat  clouded  the  reputation  of  another 
admirable  minister,  and  obscured  his  fine  gifts.  I 

refer  to  Chandler  Robbins.  It  was  his  boast,  during 
12 


1 78 


BOSTON  UNI TA RIA N ISM. 


the  civil  war — a  period  of  intense  excitement  and 
deep  patriotic  conviction  throughout  the  community, 
when  the  pulpit  even  was  expected  to  be  sectional, 
— that  neither  sermon,  prayer  nor  hymn  had,  in  his 
church,  reminded  people  of  the  strife.  A  painful 
incident,  illustrating  his  habit  of  mind  (one  cannot 
call  it  apathy,  or,  on  the  other  hand,  an  active  hos¬ 
tility  to  the  Northern  cause,  but  rather  a  stubborn 
neutrality  on  political  affairs),  occurred  at  a  meeting 
of  the  Historical  Society,  to  which  Mr.  Bobbins 
belonged.  It  was  at  one  of  the  darkest  episodes  of 
the  war.  Defeat  had  followed  defeat.  The  credit 
of  the  government  was  sinking.  Conflict  with 
England  seemed  imminent.  An  informal  conver¬ 
sation  on  the  situation  went  round  the  circle ;  Mr. 
Bobbins  joined  in  and  criticised  the  proceedings  at 
Washington,  uttering  sentiments  that  jarred  on  the 
ears  of  loyalists.  One  of  the  members,  an  old  man, 
influential  and  honored,  who  had  lost  a  son  in  battle, 
bore  it  as  long  as  he  could,  chafing  and  fretting  in 
his  chair ;  but  at  length,  unable  to  sit  any  longer,  got 
up,  faced  the  offender,  shook  his  clenched  fist  at  him, 
and  ejaculated,  “  Then  ”  (in  the  event  of  Northern 
overthrow  and  bankruptcy)  “  we  will  all  go  to  hell 
together.”  Such  was  the  temper  of  the  people,  and 
it  required  courage  to  confront  it.  This  Mr.  Bob¬ 
bins,  be  his  conduct  wise  or  foolish,  did.  It  was  the 
same  spirit  that  called  the  outcry  against  Emerson’s 
Divinity  School  address,  a  “  vulgar  clamor  ”  and  a 
“  popular  roar  ”  ;  the  same  spirit  that  prompted  him, 


THE  FREEDOM  OF  FRIENDSHIP. 


l79 


after  expressing  the  opinion  that  Mr.  Parker  should 
withdraw  from  the  Unitarian  Association  when  the 
general  feeling  was  against  him,  to  write  Mr.  Parker 
a  letter,  in  which  he  said : 

I  felt  most  deeply  the  delicacy  and  the  hard  trial  of  your 
situation,  and  am  constrained  to  say  that  you  sustained  your¬ 
self  nobly.  It  would  have  been  unjust  to  you  to  have  been  less 
frank  than  we  were. 

The  truth  is,  he  was  an  inveterate  peacemaker. 
His  motto  should  have  been  :  “  Truth  if  possible, 
peace  at  any  rate.”  No  doubt  his  failure  to  uphold 
the  Northern  cause  gave  dissatisfaction  to  most  of 
his  people.  Many  left  him ;  some  disliked  what  they 
deemed  his  stubborness ;  and  some  were  alienated  by 
what  they  considered  his  arrogance  and  diplomatic 
astuteness  ;  to  them  he  illustrated  the  “ perseverance 
of  the  saints.”  But  he  was  much  beloved.  He  was 
a  minister  born ;  a  real  priest  and  servant,  with  a 
dignified  manner,  a  sweet,  grave,  sympathetic  coun¬ 
tenance,  a  deep,  mellow  voice,  a  simple,  straight¬ 
forward  address,  an  evangelical  appearance.  His 
sermons  were  impressive,  earnest,  aimed  directly  at 
the  conversion  of  souls  to  Christ.  He  was  an 
excellent  scholar  in  a  rather  distinguished  class  (that 
of  1829),  and  came  out  of  the  Divinity  School  in 
1833.  It  should  not  be  forgotten  that,  while  in 
college,  he  showed  remarkable  courage  in  defending, 
alone,  or  almost  alone,  a  classmate  whom  he  believed 
to  be  wrongly  accused  of  having  betrayed  a  comrade 
to  the  faculty,  and  who  in  consequence  was  cut  off 


i8o 


BOSTON  UNITARIANISM. 


from  all  intercourse  with  his  companions ;  or  that> 
while  tutor  in  the  Boston  Latin  School,  he  governed 
the  boys  habitually  by  force  of  character,  resorting 
to  corporal  punishment  once  only,  and  then  in  a  case 
of  wanton  cruelty,  where  the  offense  was  against 
humanity.  In  the  profession  he  succeeded  R.  W. 
Emerson  and  Henry  Ware,  Jr.,  who  had  his  eye  on 
him  while  yet  a  student,  midway  in  his  course  at  the 
Divinity  School.  The  people,  after  such  preaching, 
were  delighted  with  him,  gave  him  a  unanimous  call, 
and  listened  to  him  more  than  forty  years.  When 
he  resigned,  in  1874,  he  was  the  oldest-settled  pastor 
in  Boston. 

Chandler  Bobbins  was  an  admirable  historical 
student ;  an  enthusiastic  chronicler  of  the  old  Boston 
story — the  situation  of  his  meeting-house,  far  down 
in  Hanover  Street,  lending  helps  to  that  taste ; — an 
antiquarian  of  no  mean  pretension ;  a  poet  too  of 
rare  fervor,  one  of  his  hymns, 

Lo  the  day  of  rest  declineth  ; 

Gather  fast  the  shades  of  night, 

being  a  great  favorite  with  worshippers  of  every 
Christian  name ;  an  essayist  of  elegance  and  skill. 
His  researches  were  wide.  I  recollect  his  borrowing 
from  my  father  Colebrook’s  volume  on  u  The  Phi¬ 
losophy  of  the  Hindus  ”  (in  French).  He  was  one 
of  the  “  Nine  Worthies  ”  celebrated  in  verse  : 

The  calm  expression  of  his  air 
Is  tender  and  yet  strong. 

His  fervors  kindle  into  prayer 
And  melt  in  sacred  song. 


THE  FREEDOM  OF  FRIENDSHIP. 


1 8 1 


Andrew  P.  Peabody,  in  his  “  Harvard  Reminis¬ 
cences,”  writes  of  him  : 

Dr.  Robbins,  several  years  before  his  death,  met  with  an 
accident  which  was  probably  the  cause  of  his  loss  of  sight. 
From  that  time,  darkness  gathered  over  him  by  slow  but  sure 
stages,  with  no  hopeful  intermission.  He  worked  while  he  was 
yet  able  cheerfully  and  earnestly  ;  and  when  the  shadows 
became  so  dense  that  he  could  guide  neither  his  pen  nor  his 
step,  he  submitted,  not  as  to  the  inevitable,  but  as  to  the  hidden 
mercy  of  a  loving  Providence. 

Another  “  worthy  ”  who  has,  in  his  general  repu¬ 
tation,  suffered  a  little  by  his  love  for  secular  things 
— horses  and  festivities, — w^as  Samuel  Kirkland 
Lothrop,  the  incumbent  of  the  Brattle  Street  pulpit 
after  John  Gorham  Palfrey  and  Edward  Everett 
and  Joseph  Stevens  Buckminster.  He  is  justly 
described  in  the  following  lines  from  the  poem  that 
has  been  quoted  so  often  : 

A  frame  of  this  world  in  a  minister’s  gown 

And  good  in  them  both  ; — though  a  whip  and  athletic, 

In  his  whole  sacred  office  devout,  sympathetic. 

He  is  ready  of  speech  and  in  fervor  of  spirit 
T ells  his  mind  without  caring  to  polish  or  shear  it, 

Or  to  deck  it  out  fine  with  rhetorical  rays  ; 

It  is  good  as  it  stands  and  quite  sure  of  its  praise, 

His  genius  runs  prose,  studies  doctrines  not  graces, 

And  sees  always  the  facts  in  all  manner  of  cases. 

O’er  the  highways  of  thought  he  moves  wide  and  at  ease, 

With  no  time  for  its  nooks  and  small  taste  for  its  seas, 

And  in  Church  and  in  State  a  conservative  stout, 

Is  “aye  ready  ”  for  battle,  with  arms  or  without. 

A  man  of  large  nature,  a  man  of  affairs, 

Whose  honest,  brave  soul  in  his  manner  he  wears. 

Should  you  see  him  at  times  when  his  spirit  mounts  warm, 

With  his  hands  in  a  clench  and  his  brow  in  a  storm, 

You  might  take  him  for  some  rough  Dictator  or  other  ; 

But  look  at  him  close,  he ’s  all  Christian  and  brother. 


182 


BOSTON  UNI T A RIA N ISM. 


From  this  sketch  it  may  safely  be  inferred  that 
Dr.  Lothrop’s  genius  was  more  practical  than  specu¬ 
lative  ;  that  he  was  gifted  with  common-sense  rather 
than  with  intellectual  keenness,  with  human  sa¬ 
gacity  rather  than  with  spiritual  insight.  According 
to  my  own  observation,  he  was  a  model  ecclesiastic, 
— not  a  priest  of  the  Continental  type,  but  an  Eng¬ 
lish  bishop  with  the  freedom  of  an  American  clergy¬ 
man.  With  him  the  Church  was  an  institution,  and 
he  was  one  of  its  appointed  administrators.  His 
fame  as  a  preacher  was  not  especially  great.  He 
was  not  reputed  a  prophet  or  seer.  But  he  was 
exceedingly  valuable  as  a  minister.  He  had  an 
imposing  presence,  a  handsome  countenance,  a 
sonorous  voice,  a  bluff,  cordial  manner,  a  hearty 
address,  ready  speech,  a  forcible  pen.  His  dress 
was  always  in  good  order,  his  linen  was  of  the 
whitest,  his  broadcloth  of  the  blackest ;  but  this  was 
simply  a  personal,  not  an  official,  incident,  an  ex¬ 
pression  of  his  sense  of  neatness,  of  propriety,  which 
would  have  appeared  whatever  his  business  was. 
His  natural  affections  were  warm,  responsive,  sensi¬ 
tive,  as  well  abroad  as  at  home,  in  his  official  as  in 
his  domestic  relations.  His  conscientiousness  was 
robust,  his  purpose  humane,  his  aim,  as  a  minister, 
high  if  not  ideal.  He  was  alive  to  the  social  privi¬ 
leges  of  his  profession,  the  acquaintance  of  distin¬ 
guished  men,  the  easy  access  to  the  best  society,  the 
open  door  into  the  human  breast  on  occasions  of 
perplexity  or  sorrow,  the  demand  for  a  clerical  pres- 


THE  FREEDOM  OF  FRIENDSHIP . 


183 


ence  at  civic  or  national  observances  ;  but  he  did  not 
forget  that  he  was  a  minister  of  the  gospel,  nor  did 
he  fail  to  impart  some  higher  flavor  to  the  festivities 
he  engaged  in.  In  the  purlieus  of  the  profession,  to 
which,  it  is  needless  to  say,  he  devoted  himself  most 
assiduously  and  acceptably,  his  industry  was  im¬ 
mense.  He  had  the  interests  of  education  deeply  at 
heart,  served  on  committees,  visited  schools,  wrote 
reports,  offered  suggestions,  pressed  reforms,  was  an 
active  member  of  committees,  and,  in  every  way  was 
most  efficacious.  His  work  at  charitable  organiza¬ 
tions  was  incessant  and  laborious.  He  was  president 
or  secretary  of  innumerable  societies,  and  he  made 
his  influence  felt  in  them  all.  His  interest  in  mu¬ 
nicipal,  State,  and  national  concerns  was  great  and 
manifest.  He  was  an  ardent  Whig,  and  let  the 
citizen  show  through  the  clergyman’s  gown.  The 
tributes  paid  to  him  after  his  death  by  ministers  of 
renown  spoke  volumes  in  his  praise.  The  respect 
and  affection  in  which  he  was  held  were  universally 
attested.  Hr.  Walker  once  said  that  if  he  were  in 
need  of  pastoral  offices  there  was  no  one  he  should 
go  to  sooner  than  to  Dr.  Lothrop.  Wherever  re¬ 
ligion  came  into  contact  with  human  affairs,  there  he 
was  at  home.  There  he  was  most  felicitous.  I  have 
heard  him  speak  at  weddings  and  at  funerals,  when 
it  seemed  that  nothing  could  be  better,  and  what 
he  was 

in  the  dark  Gethsemane 
Of  pain,  and  midnight  prayer, 

the  afflicted  alone  can  tell. 


184 


BOSTON  UNIT  A  RIA  NISM. 


After  Dr.  Lothrop’s  death,  the  Boston  Association 
of  Congregational  Ministers,  of  which  he  was  a  lead¬ 
ing  man  for  half  a  century  and  Moderator  nearly 
seventeen  years,  through  a  special  committee  paid 
him  a  warm  tribute.  Here  is  a  part  of  it : 

No  one  among  us  was  so  thoroughly  acquainted  with  the  history,  cus¬ 
toms,  and  laws  of  our  Congregational  churches.  And  in  the  whole  Con¬ 
gregational  body  not  more  than  one  or  two  others  during  the  last  forty  years 
had  made  himself  so  intimately  and  personally  acquainted  with  the  wants 
and  trials  of  ministers’  bereaved  families  left  widowed  or  fatherless  in  great 
destitution  or  with  wholly  inadequate  means  of  support.  But  while  the 
labors  of  his  life  reached  through  these  wider  relationships,  he  was  most 
beloved  and  honored  by  those  who  knew  him  best.  For  they  were  made  to 
feel  as  others  could  not,  the  Christian  faith  which  bore  him  up  under  the 
heaviest  bereavements,  and  the  Christian  kindliness  and  charity  which 
“  never  failed,”  but  kept  the  sweetness  and  the  cheerfulness  of  his  disposition 
untouched  by  the  sorest  trials  and  disappointments. 

The  temper  of  aggressive  reform  came  in,  so  far  as 
I  can  remember,  with  John  Pierpont,  of  Hollis 
Street.  Things  invisible  had  not  much  interest  for 
him.  Things  theological  possessed  little  attraction. 
The  bent  of  his  mind  was  ethical  rather  than  ethe¬ 
real.  His  first  profession  was  law,  which  he  studied 
and  practised,  having  been  regularly  admitted  to  the 
bar  of  Essex  County.  This  not  proving  gainful, 
owing  to  the  confusion  incident  to  the  War  of  1812, 
he  tried  business,  in  Boston  and  Baltimore,  but  was 
not  successful.  Then,  at  the  age  of  thirty-four,  he 
entered  the  ministry,  bringing  an  ability  that  had 
been  trained  in  other  fields,  and  a  spirit  of  self-asser¬ 
tion  such  as  the  Boston  clergy  were  not  accustomed 
to.  His  interest  in  social  reforms,  especially  in 


THE  FREEDOM  OF  FRIENDSHIP.  1 85 

temperance,  anti-slavery,  prison  discipline,  began  be¬ 
fore  be  occupied  the  pulpit,  and  his  outspokenness 
stirred  up  commotion  in  the  tranquil  community  of 
believers,  who  were  very  mild  in  their  reprobation 
of  social  abuses,  and  confined  themselves  to  general 
moral  exhortations.  Discontent  was  expressed  by 
him  early,  and  in  1838  a  controversy  arose  in  the 
parish  which  led  to  the  summoning  of  an  ecclesias- 
cal  council  to  pronounce  on  the  minister’s  conduct 
and  to  consider  the  relations  between  pastor  and 
people.  The  result  of  the  warfare  was  favorable  to 
Mr.  Pierpont,  who  gained  the  victory  and  thereupon 
resigned  his  place.  The  controversy  is  interesting 
here  as  illustrating  the  attitude  of  parishioners  tow¬ 
ards  the  minister  at  that  time,  the  sentiment  of  the 
Boston  Unitarian  churches  on  the  subject  of  social 
agitation,  as  well  as  the  temper  of  Mr.  Pierpont, 
which  might  have  converted  more  had  it  been  more 
persuasive.  The  truth  is  that  he  was  fond  of  con¬ 
flict.  He  was  essentially  a  fighter.  At  the  age  of 
seventy-six  he  enlisted  as  chaplain  in  a  Massachu¬ 
setts  regiment,  and  served  as  long  as  he  could  bear 
the  fatigue,  which  was  not  long.  Had  he  been  in¬ 
terested  in  theology  he  would  have  been  a  contro¬ 
versialist,  as,  indeed,  he  was  to  a  limited  extent. 
Even  his  poetry  has  a  martial  ring,  the  strains  of 
pure  melody  coming  in  like  the  sound  of  flutes  in  a 
military  band.  Some  of  the  strains  were  exceed¬ 
ingly  sweet,  but  the  whole  effect  was  stimulating, 
exciting,  stirring,  thrilling.  A  vein  of  heroism  ran 


BOSTON  UNIT  A  RIA  NISM. 


1 86 

through  the  man,  prompted  him  to  take  up  unpopu¬ 
lar  causes  that  demanded  courage,  determination, 
vigor,  in  their  champion,  great  activity  of  mind,  force 
of  will,  executive  talent.  There  was  nothing  origi¬ 
nal  in  his  theological  speculations,  which  were  char¬ 
acterized  rather  by  logical  astuteness  than  by  depth 
of  thought.  Spiritual  insight  was  not  his  strong 
point.  But,  for  the  rest,  he  was  a  charming  compan¬ 
ion,  hilarious,  witty,  full  of  anecdotes,  an  excellent 
scholar,  according  to  the  standard  of  the  time,  a  wide 
reader,  a  man  of  large  intelligence.  The  Unitarians 
of  Boston  were  a  little  afraid  of  him,  and  shrank 
somewhat  from  his  direct,  incisive  type  of  mind,  but 
he  was  a  valuable  ally  of  their  cause. 

A  very  important  and  influential  person  was  Con- 
vers  Francis,  minister  at  Watertown  and  afterward 
professor  in  the  Divinity  School  of  Cambridge.  I 
have  elsewhere  described  him  as  “  one  of  those  rare 
men  whom  too  few  appreciate  ;  a  liberal  scholar,  in 
the  best  sense  of  the  phrase ;  learned  without  ped¬ 
antry  ;  open  to  the  light  from  every  quarter ;  an 
enormous  reader  of  books ;  a  great  student  of  Ger¬ 
man  philosophy  and  divinity,  as  very  few  at  that 
time  were.  The  newest  criticism  and  speculation 
were  on  his  table  and  in  his  mind.  He  was  abso¬ 
lutely  free  from  dogmatism, — the  dogmatism  of  the 
liberal  as  well  as  the  dogmatism  of  the  conservative. 
The  students  of  Cambridge,  when  he  afterwards 
became  professor  in  the  Divinity  School,  found  fault 
with  him  for  being  too  “  all-sided  ” — noivcommittaly 


THE  FREEDOM  OF  FRIENDSHIP.  1 87 

they  called  it, — understanding  neither  his  respect  for 
their  minds  nor  his  reverence  for  the  truth.  He  was 
a  conscientious,  natural  eclectic,  with  as  few  intel¬ 
lectual  prejudices  as  it  is  well  possible  to  have.  His 
lectures  and  sermons  were  full  of  suggestions,  open¬ 
ing  out  lines  of  thought  in  every  direction,  emi¬ 
nently  useful  but  eminently  unsatisfactory  to  such 
as  wanted  opinions  formulated  for  filing  away.  It 
was  a  happy,  cordial,  cheery  mind,  with  extensive 
prospects  from  all  the  windows  ;  he  had  an  intellec¬ 
tual  atmosphere  it  was  a  delight  to  inhale.  Here 
were  books  without  stint ;  here  was  a  friend,  an  inter¬ 
preter,  and  a  sympathetic  inquirer.  Unfortunately, 
Hr.  Francis  was  not  possessed  of  force  of  will  corre¬ 
sponding  to  all  this  wealth  of  equipment.  He  was 
not  qualified  to  be  a  leader.  But  as  a  stimulator  of 
thought,  as  a  reservoir  of  extra-Christian  erudition, 
his  influence  was  felt  through  the  denomination.  He 
was  one  of  the  educators  of  Theodore  Parker,  and 
though  he  himself  kept  within  denominational  lines, 
and  was  never  out  of  repute  among  his  brethren,  he 
was  a  herald  of  the  new  time.  Parker  wrote  to  Hr. 
Francis  in  1842  :  “  No  one  who  helped  in  my  ordina¬ 
tion  will  now  exchange  ministerial  courtesies  with 
me.”  Now  Hr.  Francis  preached  the  sermon ;  yet 
Parker  always  maintained  hearty  relations  with  him, 
acknowledging  the  service  he  was  rendering,  and 
feeling  sure  of  his  substantial  sympathy.  Francis 
was  at  heart  a  transcendentalist  and  a  reformer ;  a 
friend  of  Emerson  and  of  Pierpont,  but  he  could  not 


1 88 


BOSTON  UN I TA  RIANISM . 


break  tlie  ties  that  held  him  to  his  sect ;  he  did  not 
feel  the  necessity  of  doing  so  ;  his  theory  of  influence 
recommending  to  him  the  wisdom  of  preserving  ex¬ 
isting  relations.  He  said  once  that  he  who  defies 
public  opinion,  like  the  man  who  spit  in  the  wind, 
spits  in  his  own  face.  His  practice  went  with  his 
teaching. 

It  is  difficult  to  do  full  justice  to  such  a  man,  to 
decide  how  much,  in  his  conduct,  was  due  to  cau¬ 
tion,  and  how  much  to  impartiality.  We  can  only 
classify  him  as  an  Erasmus ;  but  Holbein’s  portrait 
of  Erasmus  would  not  answer  for  him  at  all.  In¬ 
stead  of  that  calm,  pale,  passionless,  thoughtful  face, 
there  is  a  full,  ruddy  countenance  with  an  alert, 
eager  expression,  a  look  of  inquiry,  upward  and  for¬ 
ward  turned  as  if  expecting  some  new  thing  in  the 
future,  a  jocund,  cordial  man  with  a  vast  deal  of  hu¬ 
man  nature  in  him.  He  was  delighted  when  he 
could  guide,  advise,  or  help  young  men  ;  was  no 
recluse,  and  yet  no  man  of  the  world,  but  a  man  of 
letters,  hospitable,  humane,  with  a  real  belief  in 
mind,  and  the  smallest  faith  in  tradition  of  any  sort. 
His  writings  were  mainly  of  a  historical  or  biographi¬ 
cal  character.  The  life  of  Rev.  John  Eliot,  the 
Apostle  to  the  Indians,  in  Sparks’  “  American  Biog¬ 
raphy,”  was  by  him.  The  Massachusetts  Historical 
Society  honored  him  by  a  memoir.  He  was  the 
most  modest  and  diffident  of  men  :  too  modest,  too 
self-distrustful  for  immediate  effect.  Had  he  pos¬ 
sessed  more  self-assertion,  he  would  have  been 


THE  FREEDOM  OF  FRIENDSHIP.  1 89 

famous.  Humility  is  an  excellent  quality,  but  it  is 
not  operative  without  a  strong  personality,  as  his 
was  not.  He  had  convictions,  but  no  force  to  oppose 
them.  He  himself  was  a  decided  Unitarian  of  the 
ordinary  school,  and  many  passages  in  his  sermons 
asserted  his  faith  in  the  miraculous  mission  of  Jesus, 
but  his  love  of  heroism,  sincerity,  truthfulness,  led 
him  to  praise  people  whose  views  he  dissented  from. 
He  respected  mind.  He  was  an  inspirer  of  mind, 
and  his  influence  in  broadening  the  liberal  pulpit 
was  second  to  that  of  no  one,  as  his  successor,  John 
Weiss,  has  said  most  eloquently  and  shown  most  con¬ 
vincingly.  Whenever  humanity  was  in  question,  as 
it  was  in  the  case  of  slavery,  his  sentiments  were 
expressed  firmly,  courageously,  and  without  regard  to 
ancestors.  Here  there  could  not  be  two  sides,  nor 
were  his  opinions  uttered  in  doubtful  language.  On 
this  matter,  he  thought,  the  pulpit  should  be  open 
for  protest  at  all  times. 

Among  the  men  who  did  honor  to  the  Unitarian 
name  was  one  not  distinguished  as  preacher  or 
writer,  or  for  other  shining  gifts,  but  eminent  for 
sheer  goodness,  and  an  admirable  example  of  the 
piety  that  was,  as  often  as  in  any  sect,  associated 
with  the  Unitarian  belief.  We  must  not  forget  Na¬ 
thaniel  Hall,  of  Dorchester,  an  earnest,  devoted 
Christian,  a  man  without  guile  if  there  ever  was  one. 
There  was  nothing  peculiar  in  his  faith.  At  his 
ordination,  July  16,  1835,  E.  B.  Hall,  of  Providence, 
his  brother,  preached  the  sermon ;  Dr.  Pierce  offered 


190 


BOSTON  UNIT  A  RIA  N ISM. 


the  prayer ;  Dr.  Palfrey  gave  the  charge ;  George 
Putnam  tendered  the  right  hand  of  fellowship  ;  Dr. 
Parkman  made  the  address  to  the  people  :  a  pretty 
good  evidence  of  conservative  leanings.  At  the 
twenty-fifth  anniversary  of  the  settlement,  July  16, 
1860,  there  was  nothing  to  indicate  a  departure  from 
the  accustomed  ways  of  thinking  in  religion.  At 
his  death  hearty  tributes  were  paid  by  men  like 
James  F.  Clarke,  Andrew  P.  Peabody,  George  W. 
Briggs,  James  W.  Thompson.  But  convictions  are 
always  radical,  and  here  was  a  man  of  convictions. 
Mr.  Hall  began  life  as  a  clerk  in  a  store ;  then  he 
served  as  secretary  in  an  insurance  office.  But 
neither  of  these  pursuits  satisfied  the  hunger  of  his 
soul.  He  had  aspirations  after  an  ideal  calling.  He 
entered  the  Divinity  School  at  Cambridge,  was 
graduated  thence  in  1834,  and  the  next  year  was 
chosen  colleague  pastor  with  Thaddeus  Mason 
Harris,  in  Dorchester,  who  resigned  his  charge  in 
1836.  From  that  time  Mr.  Hall  was  the  pastor,  and 
remained  in  Dorchester  till  the  end  of  his  life,  in 
1875.  He  was  a  minister  forty  years,  a  most  devoted 
one,  the  true  friend  of  his  people,  taking  a  warm 
interest  in  their  children,  and  concerning  himself 
with  all  their  spiritual  affairs.  He  had  a  “true  and 
effectual  A  calling  from  on  high  ;  was  not  pushed 
into  the  profession,  or  educated  for  it,  or  destined  to 
it  by  ambitious  relatives,  but  summoned  to  ifc  by  an 
inward  impulse  from  heaven.  He  was  all  minister 
without  the  smallest  reservation.  The  moral  laws 


THE  FREEDOM  OF  FRIENDSHIP. 


I9I 


ran  through  his  nature.  Hence  it  was  no  violation 
of  them  but  the  simplest  observance,  when  he  gave 
expression  to  humane  sentiments  and  tried  to  impress 
upon  his  congregation  the  claims  of  the  slave.  For 
there  was  an  element  of  firmness  in  him,  an  unyield¬ 
ing  persistency  when  conscience  was  involved,  that 
would  give  way  to  no  blandishments.  His  was  not 
a  pulpy  goodness ;  there  was  vir  in  his  virtue.  There 
were  verses  about  “  righteousness  ”  among  the  “  Beati¬ 
tudes,”  and  these  he  heeded.  Nor  did  he  feel  that 
he  had  discharged  his  whole  duty  to  the  Sermon  on 
the  Mount  as  long  as  these  were  silently  omitted. 
Many  were  the  beseechings,  many  the  remonstrances, 
many  the  rebukes,  many  the  desertions,  many  the 
departures  from  the  meeting-house  as  the  unwelcome 
message  was  delivered,  but  no  effect  was  produced. 
There  was  organized  opposition,  still  the  preacher 
persevered,  retaining  the  cordial  respect  of  his  op¬ 
ponents.  For  nothing  personal  mingled  with  his 
admonitions.  There  was  no  invective,  no  rancor, 
no  sarcasm,  no  innuendo.  The  exposition  was  calm, 
the  argument  unimpassioned,  the  appeal  dignified. 
Nothing  inflammatory  tainted  the  discourse.  The 
moral  force  was  felt  through  the  sermon  even  by 
objectors,  who  sometimes  expressed  regret  at  their 
rudeness.  To  the  charge  of  introducing  politics  into 
the  pulpit  he  replied : 

The  pulpit  stands  before  the  community  as  the  visible 
representative,  the  public  organ,  the  accredited  voice  of  its 
religion.  Should  it  fail  of  bearing  testimony,  openly  and 


192 


BOSTON  UNITARIA NISM. 


unequivocally  against  this  wrong,  what  would  be  the  un¬ 
authorized  inference  from  such  failure, — the  natural  language 
of  it?  Would  it  not  be,  that  religion,  as  such,  had  no  rebuke 
for  it, — had  nothing  to  do  with  it  ?  .  .  .  An  impression,  I 

learn,  exists  with  some  of  you,  that,  in  allowing  the  anti-slavery 
enterprise  to  find  continued  advocacy  in  this  pulpit,  I  have 
been  untrue  to  some  expressions  in  the  sermon  at  my  return 
[from  Europe,  where  he  had  been], — expressions  which  were 
understood,  most  strangely,  to  involve  a  confession  of  regret 
at  my  past  course  in  relation  to  this  enterprise,  and  the  avowal 
of  a  purpose  to  avoid  its  repetition.  I  desire  to  say,  that  not 
the  slightest  shadow  of  such  an  idea  ever  entered  my  mind. 
No  !  No  !  Among  the  things  in  the  past  which  I  regret,  and 
they  are  many,  this,  believe  me,  is  not  one.  Among  the  reso¬ 
lutions  with  which  I  crossed  anew  the  threshold  of  my  work, 
there  was  none  of  desistance  from  the  advocacy  of  this  holy 
cause.  Its  summoning  trump,  heard  long  years  ago, — heard, 
and,  I  bless  God,  heeded, — wakes  still  its  echoes  in  my  soul ; 
and  when  I  shall  willingly  be  disobedient  to  it  may  the  earth 
miss  me,  and  its  befriending  turf  conceal  me  !  Circumstances 
require  that  I  should  be  explicit  in  this  matter.  This,  there¬ 
fore,  I  desire  to  say,  that  I  stand  here  in  perfect  freedom,  or  I 
stand  not  here  at  all ;  and  that,  in  the  exercise  of  that  freedom, 
among  the  subjects  that  will  be  introduced  here,  is  that  of 
righteousness  in  its  application  to  the  great  sin  of  the  nation, 
— to  American  slavery. 

To  the  question  “what  good  will  such  discussion 
do  ?  ”  Mr.  Hall  made  answer : 

I  do  not  know  ;  I  do  not  care  to  know.  Ask  Him  who 
formed  the  soul  for  truth,  to  find  therein  its  sustenance  and 
salvation,  and  whose  kingdom  is  to  come  in  the  world  only 
through  his  blessing  upon  the  spoken  and  manifested  truth. 
Ask  him  who  “  for  this  end  was  born,  and  for  this  cause  came 
into  the  world,  that  He  might  bear  witness  to  the  truth,”  and 
who  bore  witness  to  it  against  scoff  and  sneer,  the  frown  of 


THE  FREEDOM  OF  FRIENDSHIP. 


193 


power,  and  the  threatening  of  hate,  in  the  sublime  faith  that  it 
would  win  for  itself,  at  length,  a  universal  triumph.  Ask  the 
thousands  who,  in  a  like  faith,  have  lived  and  died  for  it, — 
lived  in  persecution,  died  in  martyrdom  ;  scattering  as  they 
went,  on  the  world’s  bleak  waysides,  its  celestial  seeds,  to  spring 
and  bloom  above  their  graves. 

These  are  touching  words  of  deep,  unselfish  con¬ 
viction,  such  as  none  but  an  heroic,  trusting  soul 
could  speak.  A  moral  power  at  least  must  have 
gone  out  of  them,  and  reached  the  heart.  Such  a 
power  did  throb  in  many  consciences  that  could  not 
give  it  such  eloquent  expression.  Unitarianism  cer¬ 
tainly  lent  itself  to  like  persuasions.  The  cardinal 
doctrine  of  the  essential  uprightness  of  human 
nature,  of  the  native  capacity  of  man — that  is,  of 
development  instead  of  conversion ,  encouraged  efforts 
to  remove  restrictions,  to  take  away  social  barriers, 
to  emancipate  mankind  from  needless  oppression, 
and  give  people  a  chance  to  expand.  We  saw 
this  result  in  Channing,  Emerson,  Ripley,  Pierpont, 
Parker,  Clarke,  Hall,  Francis,  Weiss,  Wasson,  Ellis, 
Willson,  and  many  another.  On  the  other  hand, 
Unitarianism  was  the  religion  of  the  educated,  the 
refined,  the  scholarly,  the  wealthy,  the  leaders  of 
society.  Great  merchants,  politicians,  statesmen, 
judges  were  apt  to  be  members  of  Unitarian  congre¬ 
gations.  This  influence  was  strongly  conservative 
of  the  existing  order,  and  threw  the  weight  of 
public  opinion  against  agitation  or  reform.  Of 

course,  this  power  was  felt  most  in  Boston  and  the 
13 


194 


BOSTON  UNITARIA NISM. 


neighborhood;  in  remote  country  towns  and  vil¬ 
lages  it  was  hardly  perceptible,  so  that  it  required  a 
good  deal  of  courage  to  resist  the  ruling  sentiment 
and  maintain  the  independence  of  the  pulpit  when 
it  was  measured  by  the  respectability  of  the  pews. 

Then  there  were  differences  of  temperament,  and 
of  culture,  more  pronounced  among  the  educated 
than  among  the  unlettered,  as  they  probed  issues 
deeper,  had  a  greater  variety  of  interests,  possessed 
a  more  complicated  individuality.  Some  ministers 
frankly  defended  slavery,  claiming,  with  Edward 
Everett  (a  Unitarian  by  the  way),  that  it  was  “  a 
condition  of  life,  as  well  as  any  other  to  be  justified 
by  morality,  religion,  and  international  law.”  Such 
men  did  not  have  in  view  the  principle  which  in¬ 
sisted  on  freedom  as  a  condition  of  moral  enfran¬ 
chisement  wholly  without  regard  to  the  misery  of 
the  slaves.  Others  were  quite  unconcerned  about 
the  matter,  holding  that  it  was  none  of  their  busi¬ 
ness,  and  were  absorbed  in  matters  close  at  hand. 
The  “  violence  ”  of  the  Abolitionists,  their  denuncia¬ 
tion  of  all  slave-holders,  offended  the  daintier  or 
more  scrupulous  minds.  Many  contended  that  their 
duty  was  to  their  churches,  and  that  this  duty  was 
confined  to  the  task  of  building  up  in  them  a  Chris¬ 
tian  character,  leaving  to  them  the  details  of  conduct. 
A  few  were  timid,  but  not  many.  The  charge  of 
hypocrisy  cannot  be  sustained.  And  certainly  it  is 
not  for  ordinary  mortals  to  blame  those  who  could 
not  withstand  the  steady,  universal  pressure  of  the 


THE  FREEDOM  OF  FRIENDSHIP. 


IQS 


distinguished,  the  wise,  and  the  respected,  whose 
judgment  in  other  affairs  was  supreme.  None  but 
heroic  souls  can  do  that.  We  may  classify  them, 
but  we  may  not  denounce  them.  Let  us  honor 
the  faithful ;  let  us  leave  the  unfaithful  to  their 
consciences. 

This  was  the  old  quarrel,  handed  down  to  the 
Whigs  and  Democrats  of  a  later  day  from  the 
Federalists  and  Republicans  of  an  earlier  period. 
In  1801,  Theodore  Dwight,  in  an  oration  delivered 
at  New  Haven,  July  7th,  said, — I  quote  from  Henry 
Adams’  “  History  of  the  United  States,”  vol.  i.,  p.  225  : 

The  great  object  of  Jacobinism,  both  in  its  political  and 
moral  revolution,  is  to  destroy  every  trace  of  civilization  in  the 
world,  and  to  force  mankind  back  into  a  savage  state  .  .  . 

That  is,  in  plain  English,  the  greatest  villain  in  the  community 
is  the  fittest  person  to  make  and  execute  the  laws.  .  .  .  We 
have  now  reached  the  consummation  of  democratic  blessed¬ 
ness.  We  have  a  country  governed  by  blockheads  and  knaves ; 
the  ties  of  marriage,  with  all  its  felicities,  are  severed  and  de¬ 
stroyed  ;  our  wives  and  daughters  are  thrown  into  the  stews  ; 
our  children  are  cast  into  the  world  from  the  breasts  and 
forgotten  ;  filial  piety  is  extinguished,  and  our  surnames,  the 
only  mark  of  distinction  among  families,  are  abolished.  Can 
the  imagination  paint  any  thing  more  dreadful  on  this  side 
hell? 

Rev.  Joseph  Buckminster,  of  Portsmouth,  New 
Hampshire,  father  of  Joseph  Stevens  Buckminster, 
said  in  a  sermon  on  Washington’s  death  : 

I  would  not  be  understood  to  insinuate  that  contemners  of 
religious  duties  [he  had  Jefferson  in  mind],  and  even  men  void 
of  religious  principle,  may  not  have  an  attachment  to  their 


196 


BOSTON  UNIT  A  RIA  NISM. 


country  and  a  desire  for  its  civil  and  political  prosperity  ;  .  .  . 
but  by  their  impiety  .  .  .  they  take  away  the  heavenly  de¬ 
fence  and  security  of  a  people,  and  render  it  necessary  for  him 
who  ruleth  over  the  nations  in  judgment  to  testify  his  dis¬ 
pleasure  against  those  who  despise  his  laws  and  contemn  his 
ordinances.  (Adams,  i.,  81.) 

His  son,  probably,  shared  bis  opinion ;  for  a  writer 
in  the  Boston  Anthology ,  January,  1807,  thus  ex¬ 
pressed  the  sentiments  of  the  literary  class : 

We  know  that  in  this  land,  where  the  spirit  of  democracy  is 
everywhere  diffused,  we  are  exposed,  as  it  were,  to  a  poisonous 
atmosphere,  which  blasts  every  thing  beautiful  in  nature,  and 
corrodes  every  thing  elegant  in  art.  (Adams,  i.,  99.) 

Enough  account  is  not  generally  made  of  the  pure¬ 
ly  social  element  in  the  opposition  of  the  Unitarian 
ministers,  as  a  rule,  to  the  Abolitionists.  They  were 
gentlemen;  they  occupied  a  high  position  in  the 
community ;  they  belong  to  a  privileged  order ;  they 
were  inclined  to  honor  great  people.  It  was,  in  this 
respect,  unfortunate  that  they  had  so  many  eminent 
men  in  their  congregations.  Such  characters  as 
Daniel  Webster,  Edward  Everett,  Amos  A.  Law¬ 
rence,  could  not  but  influence  the  opinions  of  those 
who  lived  out  of  the  political  and  commercial  world. 
Ordinary  modesty  would  have  prompted  an  attitude 
of  deference,  and  a  most  extraordinary  moral  con¬ 
viction  was  required  to  resist  their  knowledge  and 
power.  Saints  might  have  withstood  them ;  heroes 
might ;  but  heroes  and  saints  were  few,  and  the  city 
clergymen  who  could  rise  above  social  considerations 


THE  FREEDOM  OF  FRIENDSHIP. 


I97 


deserve  far  more  credit  than  they  got.  They  were 
possessed  of  remarkable  courage.  With  the  solitary 
exception  of  Wendell  Phillips,  who  was  regarded  as 
an  aristocratic  demagogue,  the  Abolitionists  were 
poor,  humble,  despised  people,  of  no  influence ;  men 
one  could  not  ask  to  dine,  who  were  not  respected 
“  on  change,”  who  had  no  place  in  halls  of  legisla¬ 
tion,  who  were  the  natural  antagonists  of  the  refined 
and  well  esteemed.  It  is  quite  possible  that,  if  the 
situation  had  been  reversed,  the  Unitarian  ministers 
would  have  been  more  anti-slavery  than  they  were, 
for  they  had  humanity  enough  to  temper  social 
prejudice,  but  not  enough  to  surmount  it.  As  it  was, 
they  were  staunch  Whigs,  hated  the  very  name  of 
Jefferson,  dreaded  Democracy,  abhorred  what  they 
called  Jacobinism,  which  seemed  to  them  allied  with 
“  infidelity,”  and  were  strenuous  upholders  of  Union 
and  peace.  The  following  lines  of  my  father  on 
Daniel  Webster,  written  at  sunset,  October  22,  1852, 
show  the  bent  of  their  feeling. 


Sink,  thou  Autumnal  Sun  ! 

The  trees  will  miss  the  radiance  of  thine  eye, 
Clad  in  their  Joseph-coat  of  many  a  dye  ; 

The  clouds  will  miss  thee  in  the  fading  sky  ; 

But  now  in  other  scenes  thy  race  must  run, 

This  day  of  glory  done. 

Sink,  thou  of  nobler  light  ! 

The  land  will  mourn  thee  in  its  darkening  hour  ; 
Its  heavens  grow  gray  at  thy  retiring  power, 
Thou  shining  orb  of  mind,  thou  beacon-tower  ! 
Be  thy  great  memory  still  a  guardian  might, 
When  thou  art  gone  from  sight. 


BOSTON  UNITARIANISM. 


I98 

Longfellow’s  praise  of  the  Union,  at  the  end  of 
his  poem,  “  The  Building  of  the  Ship,”  is  in  point, 
as  illustrating  the  faith  of  a  prominent  layman. 

Thou  too,  sail  on,  O  Ship  of  State  ! 

Sail  on,  O  Union,  strong  and  great ! 

Humanity  with  all  its  fears 
Is  hanging  breathless  on  thy  fate  ! 

Our  hearts,  our  hopes  are  all  with  thee, 

Our  hearts,  our  hopes,  our  prayers,  our  tears, 

Our  faith  triumphant  o’er  our  fears, 

Are  all  with  thee,  are  all  with  thee  ! 

This  was  in  them  a  faith,  a  real  faith,  a  faith  in 
civilization,  progress,  amity,  friendship,  humanity, 
the  interests  of  the  intellectual  world,  the  future 
destinies  of  society.  The  Union  meant  power  of 
conscience,  the  sway  of  moral  sentiment,  the  predom¬ 
inance  of  the  best.  Love  for  it  was,  by  no  means, 
inconsistent  with  a  sincere  detestation  of  slavery,  but 
slavery  was  perhaps  hated  less  than  Union  was  loved. 
Moreover,  the  Union  of  the  States  was  regarded 
as  the  ultimate  pledge  of  the  extinction  of  slavery, 
as  the  civil  war  afterwards  proved  it  was,  for  eman¬ 
cipation  was  an  episode  in  the  attempt  to  save  the 
Union  by  Mr.  Lincoln.  And  then,  too,  slavery  was 
honestly  supposed  to  be  really  on  the  decline  though 
apparently  increasing  in  power,  while  other  evils  as 
great  as  slavery,  if  not  greater, — evils  inseparable 
from  anarchy, — seemed  sure  to  follow  upon  disin¬ 
tegration.  The  demand  of  the  Abolitionists  for  dis¬ 
union  made  them  peculiarly  offensive  to  these  pa¬ 
triots.  The  demand  might,  in  their  judgment,  be 


THE  FREEDOM  OF  FRIENDSHIP. 


I99 


logical  enough,  but  against  it  were  sentiment  and 
charity  and  the  forces  of  civilization,  which,  though 
it  worked  slowly,  worked  surely  and  beneficently. 
The  process  of  elevating  any  portion  of  mankind 
was  long,  requiring  much  patience,  and  they  who 
thought  to  effect  it  at  once  by  an  ethical  impulse, 
fell  into  a  most  disastrous  misconception.  Long¬ 
fellow’s  close  intimacv  with  Charles  Sumner  attested 
his  own  anti-slavery  feeling,  and  doubtless  he  be¬ 
lieved  that  a  general  moral  sentiment  that  would  en¬ 
sure  final  emancipation  must  somehow  result  from 
the  influence  of  Northern  ideas,  reinforced  by  prin¬ 
ciple  and  rendered  humane  by  pity.  Thus  a  hearty 
belief  in  the  future  of  the  Union,  bringing  into  ex¬ 
ercise,  as  it  was  confidently  supposed,  all  the  ele¬ 
ments  of  the  highest  attainment,  promised  a  blood* 
less  solution  of  the  problem  of  negro  servitude.  It 
was  thought  that  the  Abolitionists  did  more  harm 
than  good,  inasmuch  as  they  discouraged  the  finest 
sentiments  of  humanity, — peace,  charity,  brotherly 
kindness,  hope  of  progress, — and  erected  a  single 
trait,  moral  indignation,  above  every  grace  of  culti¬ 
vated  character  inculcated  in  the  New  Testament. 
It  would  be  wiser,  some  maintained,  to  buy  the 
slaves  outright,  than  to  risk  an  agitation  that  would 
certainly  alienate  friendly  feeling  and  render  re¬ 
monstrance  unavailing,  even  if  it  did  not  provoke 
recrimination  and  hatred.  Such  was  the  faith  of 
some  very  trustful  souls. 

I  have  said  that  the  social  element  entered  largely 


200 


BOSTON  UNIT  A  RIANISM. 


into  the  Unitarian  opposition  to  the  Abolitionists, 
It  was,  in  great  measure,  responsible  for  the  dislike 
of  democratic  institutions.  This  dislike  was  very 
old,  and  had  a  most  respectable  parentage  in  Massa¬ 
chusetts  ;  John  Winthrop,  the  predecessor  of  Wash¬ 
ington,  and  men  of  his  stamp,  distrusted  them.  In  a 
letter  summarized  by  Winthrop  himself  at  the  end 
of  his  history,  and  quoted  by  Roger  Williams,  he 
said :  “  The  best  part  of  a  community  is  always  the 
least,  and  of  that  least  part  the  wiser  are  still  less  ” ; 
a  maxim  which  is  true  enough,  and  would  be 
decisive  if  the  question  concerned  an  aristocracy 
and  not  a  republic,  in  which  all  the  people,  culti¬ 
vated  or  uncultivated,  must  have  charge  of  their 
own  interests  as  governors  of  themselves.  “  Civil 
liberty,”  he  writes  in  his  speech  on  government,  “  is 
liberty  to  do  that  only  which  is  good,  just,  and 
honest  ”  ;  which  reminds  one  of  Milton’s  lines  about 
those 

That  bawl  for  freedom  in  their  senseless  mood 
And  still  revolt  when  truth  would  set  them  free. 

License  they  mean  when  they  cry  liberty  ; 

For  who  loves  that,  must  first  be  wise  and  good. 

How  often  have  I  heard  those  lines  cited,  as  if  the 
truism  they  contained  settled  the  whole  matter  of 
freedom ! 

The  association  of  the  highest  order  of  virtue  with 
aristocratic  leanings  rendered  the  sentiment  exceed¬ 
ingly  seductive.  The  conservatives,  as  a  rule,  were 
high-toned  men,  though  not  all  high-toned  men  were 
conservative.  They  relied  on  character  ;  they  were 


THE  FREEDOM  OF  FRIENDSHIP . 


201 


friends  of  education,  instruction,  knowledge.  They 
respected  excellence,  and  it  seemed  to  them  certain 
that  obscure  men,  tied  down  to  sordid  needs,  could 
not  have  lofty  minds — must  be  fanatics.  If  Daniel 
Webster  had  been  mean,  if  Edward  Everett  had 
been  base,  if  William  Prescott  had  been  servile,  or 
George  Ticknor  a  scoundrel,  the  case  might  have 
been  altered.  As  it  was,  “  righteousness  and  peace 
kissed  each  other.”  Doyle’s  remark  is  justified  that 
Winthrop’s  blameless  integrity  disarmed  suspicion 
of  some  of  his  opinions. 

In  the  meantime  it  should  be  noticed  that  the 
criticism  of  motives  was  as  generous  as  it  was  infre¬ 
quent.  There  was  a  cordial  fellowship  between 
those  who  held  the  most  opposite  opinions  on  these 
and  other  questions  of  applied  morals.  It  was  taken 
for  granted  that  the  fundamental  principles  of 
humanity  were  cherished  by  every  preacher  of  right¬ 
eousness  ;  that  all  were  lovers  of  their  fellow-men ; 
that  each  was  honest  in  his  conception  of  duty ; 
that  there  was  room  for  different  readings  of  the 
minister’s  calling.  There  was  little  or  no  jealousy, 
and  absolutely  no  ill-will.  In  a  fraternity  as  large 
and  comprehensive,  where  the  purely  literary  spirit 
was  so  prominent,  and  the  temptations  to  worldli¬ 
ness  were  so  numerous,  this  is  saying  a  good  deal. 

But  in  the  case  of  Mr.  Hall  it  was  felt  that  opposi¬ 
tion  to  slavery  was  simply  and  wholly  an  act  of 
duty,  a  part  of  his  religion,  and  was  respected  accord¬ 
ingly.  His  sense  of  humanity  was  outraged  by  the 


202 


BOSTON  UNITARIANISM . 


system ;  his  moral  principle  was  shocked  by  its  in¬ 
justice;  his  conception  of  Christianity  as  a  religion 
of  brotherly  love  was  insulted ;  personally,  in  his 
soul,  he  felt  the  disgrace  and  shame  of  such  an  insti¬ 
tution.  His  opposition  to  slavery  was  not  a  matter 
of  temper,  or  of  temperament,  it  was  a  matter  of 
principle.  If  he  had  considered  social  or  profes¬ 
sional  consequences,  he  would  have  held  his  peace. 
But  a  conviction  like  his  could  not  regard  conse¬ 
quences,  could  not  see  them.  His  was  a  real  call  to 
the  ministry.  It  was  the  dream  of  his  youth,  a 
genuine  hunger  of  the  heart.  Necessity  compelled 
him  to  earn  money  in  business,  but  destiny  decreed 
that  his  early  longing  should  be  carried  out.  The 
firm  he  was  first  connected  with,  at  the  age  of  15, 
failed  when  he  had  been  there  a  year  and  a  half,  so 
that  he  was  thrown  out  of  employment.  The  second, 
a  ship-chandlery,  on  Long  Wharf,  was  closing  up, 
and  his  time  there  was  lost,  at  any  rate,  for  the  work 
was  entirely  uncongenial.  Then  he  became  secretary 
of  an  insurance  office,  but  the  labor  was  exhausting, 
the  associations  were  any  thing  but  encouraging,  and 
the  old  desire  returned  in  its  original  force.  He 
saved  up  a  little  money — enough,  he  thought  in  his 
ignorance, — went  away,  much  against  the  wishes  of 
his  parents  and  friends,  and  began  to  study  with  a 
brother  who  was  a  clergyman  at  Northampton.  The 
brother  had  to  go  off  for  his  health,  and  Nathaniel 
went  with  him.  Here  was  more  precious  time  lost ; 
the  scanty  means  were  diminished ;  and  the  prospect 


THE  FREEDOM  OF  FRIENDSHIP . 


203 


seemed  as  far  off  as  ever.  But  he  persevered  in  the 
face  of  all  discouragements,  including  the  temporary 
displeasure  of  an  uncle  (P.  C.  Brooks),  whose  wealth 
had  been  an  important  aid  to  him.  It  was  a  long 
experience  of  patience,  and  courage,  and  aspiration, 
and  devotion  to  an  ideal.  That  devotion  conquered 
at  last,  and  he  soon  vindicated  the  truth  as  well  as 
the  fervency  of  his  longing.  His  uncle  was  by  and 
by  brought  around,  and  became  the  most  efficient  of 
helpers.  How  he  dared  to  enter  the  Divinity  School 
was  a  marvel,  but  he  did.  It  is  needless  to  say  that 
he  worked  hard.  For  the  larger  part  of  three  years 
he  boarded  himself  at  an  expense  of  seventy-five 
cents  a  week.  It  is  a  wonder  that  he  lived  to  be  70 
years  old.  He  left  the  Divinity  School  in  1834,  and 
in  1835  was  ordained,  his  inward  preparation  making 
amends  for  the  lack  of  college  training. 

A  conviction  of  the  reality  of  spiritual  things  was 
the  strong  feature  of  his  character.  This  rendered 
business  of  every  kind  distasteful  to  him,  and 
obliged  him  to  abandon  all  his  situations ;  this 
carried  him  to  the  Divinity  School  and  kept  him 
there  in  spite  of  his  hardships  and  insufficient  train¬ 
ing  ;  this  ensured  him  an  honored  place  in  the  min¬ 
istry  ;  this  gave  him  firmness  of  resistance  when  it 
became  necessary  to  assert  his  anti-slavery  convic¬ 
tions  ;  this  confirmed  his  gentleness  when  that  was  of 
first  importance  to  hold  the  affections  of  his  people, 
and  won  over  many  of  his  opponents ;  this  held  him 
close  to  the  bosom  of  his  brethren ;  this  made  him 


204 


BOSTON  UNIT  A  R1A  N1SM. 


expansive  in  his  sympathies.  For  the  scientific,, 
critical,  speculative  aspects  of  belief,  he  cared  little ; 
for  the  humane,  spiritual  aspects  of  it  he  cared  much. 
Hence  his  large  tolerance  of  men  whose  opinions  he 
*  could  not  share, — men  like  Parker  for  instance, — 
and  hence  his  disposition  to  penetrate  beneath  the 
letter  of  Scripture  to  its  inner  moral  significance,  a 
disposition  that  might  be  dangerous  when  not 
guarded  by  strong  good-sense.  His  natural  con¬ 
science  revolted  at  once,  without  a  struggle,  from  the 
doctrine  of  Calvinism,  so  that  he  was  always  a  Uni¬ 
tarian  at  heart ;  controversy  was  no  more  distasteful 
to  him  than  it  was  unnecessary  ;  and  it  cost  him  no 
effort  to  be  generous.  He  was  a  born  Christian  in 
the  best  sense  of  the  word,  humble,  self-forgetting, 
devout,  with  self -renouncing,  unambitious  temper, 
simple-minded,  pure-souled,  loving  to  serve ;  no 
priest  by  profession,  but  a  minister  of  the  gospel, 
and  nothing  else. 

I  say  all  this  partly  in  order  to  show  how  com¬ 
pletely  spontaneous  Unitarianism  may  be,  and 
partly  to  vindicate  its  essential  religiousness  when 
relieved  of  its  dogmatic  character.  It  can  produce 
saints,  and  does  when  allowed  full  scope.  The 
reproach  that  it  is  an  intellectual  system  purely,  is 
entirely  removed  by  an  experience  like  Nathaniel 
Hall’s.  Here,  at  least,  was  a  man  who  did  not  have 
to  be  apologized  for ;  who  was  not  merely  true  to 
his  convictions,  but  whose  convictions  were  worth 
being  true  to  ;  a  man  in  whom  the  want  of  an  intel- 


THE  FREEDOM  OF  FRIENDSHIP. 


205 


lectual  brilliancy  was  a  positive  advantage  as  throw¬ 
ing  into  strong  relief  the  spiritual  elements  of 
character.  Of  course  it  will  be  objected  that,  in 
this  case,  the  native  temperament  fell  in  with  the 
superinduced  creed.  But  this,  too,  is  an  advantage, 
inasmuch  as  the  whole  man  was  exhibited,  and  the 
fitness  of  the  creed  to  a  positive,  strong  disposition 
is  demonstrated.  The  absence  of  conflict,  where  the 
faith  is  sincere,  is  a  commendation  of  the  faith ;  and 
when  the  disposition,  coming  first,  forms  its  belief, 
the  belief  is  apt  to  be  vital,  acting  as  a  reinforcement 
to  stimulate  what  is  already  powerful.  Much  has 
been  said,  and  with  great  show  of  reason,  in  behalf 
of  the  victory  of  faith  over  desire,  but,  after  all, 
time  and  strength  are  spent  in  such  moral  conflict, 
and,  if  the  victory  be  won  finally,  the  result  is  the 
same  as  when  there  is  no  conflict  at  all,  while  the 
vigor  of  the  best  years  is  secured  to  religion.  There 
is  no  foundation  equal  to  that  of  goodness,  and  if 
religion  builds  the  superstructure  according  to  its 
own  design,  we  are  sure  of  a  perfect  edifice.  Of 
course  religion  must  do  the  building.  One  cannot 
live  in  even  the  most  admirable  cellar.  But  religion, 
to  be  complete,  needs  a  foundation,  and  a  firm  foun¬ 
dation  is  more  to  be  desired  than  an  unsound  one ; 
an  adequate  foundation  is  especially  desirable, 
instead  of  one  that  must  be  made  over  anew  out  of 
the  miserable  materials  of  a  disordered  nature  that 
has  no  ready  conscience,  no  sensitive  heart,  and  no 
loyal  will. 


206 


BOSTON  UNITAR/ANISM. 


Most  of  these  men  were  writers  in  the  Christian 
Examiner ,  many  of  them  often,  and  at  length, 
giving  their  best  work  to  it,  and  elaborating  for  it 
their  ripest  ideas.  The  Examiner  was,  on  the 
whole,  a  perfect  representative  of  the  body — broad, 
free,  elastic,  undogmatical,  unecclesiastical,  literary. 
It  was  not  a  money-making  magazine,  trading  on  the 
popular  reputations  of  distinguished  men,  but  a  real 
organ  of  thought,  and  its  final  decease  was  a  serious 
loss,  not  to  the  denomination  alone,  but  to  the  cause 
of  enlightened  mind.  The  best  scholars  conducted 
it,  the  best  writers  contributed  to  it.  It  lived  on 
the  vitality  of  the  Unitarian  movement,  and  it  died 
when  that  movement  became  less  distinctive,  more 
social  and  more  secular.  Its  history  shows  its  force. 
In  the  true  sense  of  the  word,  it  was  a  development 
from  the  Monthly  Anthology ,  a  magazine  half  theo¬ 
logical  and  half  literary,  the  mouthpiece  of  the 
Anthology  Club,  a  coterie  made  up  of  Unitarian 
ministers  and  laymen.  The  pastor  of  the  First 
Church,  William  Emerson,  was  a  member ;  the  pas¬ 
tor  of  the  Brattle  Street  Church,  J.  S.  Buckminster, 
the  brilliant  preacher  and  talker,  the  enthusiast  for 
intellectualism  in  its  fullest  extent,  as  well  Greek  as 
Hebrew,  classical  as  biblical ;  the  pastor  of  the  New 
South,  S.  C.  Thacher ;  Joseph  Tuckerman,  the  phi¬ 
lanthropist;  John  Thornton  Kirkland,  of  whom 
nothing  more  need  be  said  here;  several  lawyers 
and  physicians,  afterwards  eminent ;  all  together  the 
ornaments  of  society,  the  most  accomplished  men  of 


THE  FREEDOM  OF  FRIENDSHIP. 


207 


letters  of  the  time,  belonged  to  the  Anthology  Club. 
Their  journal  lasted  from  1804  till  1811.  This  was 
succeeded  in  1812  by  the  General  Repository  and 
Review ,  a  bolder  magazine,  edited  by  Andrews 
Norton  aided  by  Buckminster  and  Edward  Everett. 
The  Repository  was  more  decidedly  anti- trinitarian. 
Mr.  Norton’s  “ Defence  of  Liberal  Christianity” 
appeared  there.  But  both  of  the  magazines  were 
too  intellectual  for  the  people,  and  died  from  lack 
of  support.  The  confidence  of  the  few  would  not 
make  a  substitute  for  the  purses  of  the  many.  The 
motto,  “  Nec  temere  nec  timide,”  was  a  good  one, 
and  it  was  acted  up  to,  but  it  failed  to  catch  the 
popular  imagination. 

The  Christian  Disciple  was  the  next  effort.  Its 
aim  was  to  speak  the  truth  in  love,  but  at  first,  under 
the  conduct  of  Noah  Worcester,  later  known  as  the 
“  Friend  of  Peace,”  there  was  so  much  love  in  it  that 
the  edo;e  of  the  sword  of  truth  was  not  felt.  It 
began  in  1813.  In  1819,  under  another  editor,  it 
became  more  aggressive ;  still  it  was  not  fierce  enough 
for  the  demand  after  1823,  and  the  Examiner  fol¬ 
lowed  in  1824,  working  on  similar  lines  with  the 
Disciple ,  and  preserving  the  same  spirit  of  charity, 
but  laying  sharper  emphasis  on  theological  ideas. 
The  revolt  against  orthodoxy  had  been  in  a  great 
measure  anonymous,  and  the  defiance  of  a  few  up  to 
the  “  Controversy  ”  which  may  be  said  to  have  begun 
with  Dr.  Channings  sermon  at  Baltimore  in  1819. 
The  Disciple  had  barely  recognized  the  change  that 


208 


BOSTON  UNIT  A  RIA  N ISM. 


was  going  on  in  the  current  belief,  and  had  not 
breathed  the  word  “  Unitarianism.”  Henceforth  a 
new  faith  was  to  be  assumed.  The  Disciple  had,  on 
the  whole,  been  less  pugnacious  than  the  Depository , 
and  the  Anthology ,  while  it  dealt  some  heavy  blows, 
was  careful  not  to  commit  individuals  to  “  liberal  ” 
opinions.  It  would  not  be  easy,  perhaps  it  would  be 
impossible,  to  trace  the  gradual  opening  of  more  ex¬ 
tended  views  in  philosophy  and  religion  through  the 
pages  of  the  Examiner ,  so  much  depends  on  the 
genius  or  state  of  the  mind  of  editors,  and  on  the 
questions  that  arise  as  years  go  on ;  but  it  is  certain 
that  thoughts  were  enlarged  as  the  numbers  multi¬ 
plied.  The  Christian  Examiner  illustrated  the  new 
Unitarian  mind  from  1824  till  1869;  and,  as  we 
know,  that  mind  was  continually  expanding.  Then 
it  died,  and  Old  and  New ,  the  very  name  of  which 
indicates  a  fresh  departure  towards  inclusiveness, 
took  its  place.  This  also  came  to  an  end  in  1872, 
being  superseded  by  secular  magazines. 

In  1829  an  effort  was  made  to  reanimate  the 
Examiner.  As  a  change  was  deemed  expedient,  a 
meeting  was  held  at  the  house  of  Dr.  Channing ;  a 
new  society  was  formed,  and  other  arrangements  for 
publication  entered  upon.  It  was  agreed  that  “  the 
general  views  of  religion  presented  in  the  work  shall 
correspond  to  those  which  have  hitherto  appeared  in 
the  Christian  Examiner.  It  shall  be  a  main  object 
of  the  publication,  in  treating  any  book  or  subject 
which  has  a  bearing  on  religion  or  morals,  to  present 


THE  FREEDOM  OF  FRIENDSHIP. 


209 


those  considerations  respecting  it,  which  would  sug¬ 
gest  themselves  to  the  mind  of  an  enlightened  Chris¬ 
tian.  The  work  shall  be  characterized  by  openness, 
fearlessness,  and  moderation  in  the  expression  of 
opinion  on  any  topic  of  public  interest,  not  flattering 
popular  prejudices  nor  accommodating  itself  to  them.” 
That  is  to  say,  that  the  Examiner  was  to  be  a  pro¬ 
nounced  vehicle  of  liberal  Christianity ;  and  the 
declaration  that  it  was  to  “  contain  an  account  of  the 
most  important  and  interesting  new  publications,  and 
thus  give  a  general  view  of  the  progress  of  literature 
and  the  popular  sciences  and  of  new  discoveries  of 
general  interest,”  proves  an  intention  to  interpret  this 
liberality  generously,  in  accordance  with  the  laws  of 
reason.  It  has  been  faithful  to  this  resolution. 
Theodore  Parker,  in  1839,  wrote  in  his  journal: 
“I  have  just  finished  a  review  of  Strauss  for  the 
Examiner .  I  could  not  say  all  I  would  say  from  the 
standpoint  of  the  Examiner — for  this  is  not  allow¬ 
able, — but  the  most  the  readers  of  that  paper  will 
bear.”  But  Mr.  Parker’s  article  was  accepted,  as  of 
course  it  would  be,  if  it  was  simply  an  account  of 
Strauss’  position ;  there  was  no  reason  in  that  why  it 
should  not  appear  in  the  Examiner. 

The  society  first  assumed  a  regular  form  on  Jan¬ 
uary  27,  1829,  by  choosing  its  officers.  Andrews 
Norton  was  chosen  President ;  F.  W.  P.  Greenwood, 
Secretary;  Nathan  Hale,  Treasurer.  The  Publica¬ 
tion  Committee  consisted  of  James  Walker,  John  G. 

Palfrey,  and  F.  W.  P.  Greenwood.  Among  the  sub- 
14 


210 


BOSTON  UNITARIAN  ISM . 


jects  mentioned  as  suitable  for  treatment,  illustrating 
the  wide  scope  of  discussion,  were  “  Lyceums,”  “  Our 
National  Union,”  “Dugald  Stewart,”  “Books  in 
Modern  Greek,”  “Lectures  at  the  London  Univer¬ 
sity,”  “  The  Tariff,”  “  Railroads,”  “  Duties  of  the 
Medical  Profession  to  Society,”  “Lotteries,”  “Poor 
Debtors,”  “  Theatres,”  “  American  Literature.”  In 
1830  it  was  decided  by  general  opinion  that  Mr. 
Jefferson’s  political  principles  and  character  were 
not  properly  subject  to  discussion  in  such  a  work. 
F.  W.  P.  Greenwood  and  James  Walker  became 
editors  in  1831.  Mr.  Walker  resigned  as  editor  at 
the  close  of  1836.  In  1839  William  Ware  was  ap¬ 
pointed  editor.  Alvan  Lamson  and  E.  S.  Gannett 
succeeded  him  in  1843.  George  Putnam  and  George 
E.  Ellis  assumed  the  charge  in  1849.  In  1857,  on 
the  resignation  of  Mr.  Ellis,  the  editorship  was 
transferred  to  F.  H.  Hedge,  and  Edward  E.  Hale 
was  associated  with  him.  Mr.  Hale  resigned  in  1861. 
In  1863  the  society  was  dissolved  by  its  own  vote. 

But  the  Examiner  did  not  die.  There  was  an 
enthusiasm  for  it  that  encouraged  its  friends  in  spite 
of  financial  difficulty.  The  property,  such  as  it  was, 
at  once  was  made  over  to  Rev.  Thomas  B.  Fox,  and 
he,  with  Rev.  Joseph  H.  Allen,  an  indefatigable  and 
laborious  man,  carried  it  on  for  several  years,  until 
it  finally  went  to  New  York,  fell  into  Henry  W. 
Bellows1  hands,  and  died.  Mr.  Allen  conducted  the 
review  with  a  vigor  and  force  that  should  have  en¬ 
sured  success,  if  moral  or  intellectual  qualities  alone 


THE  FREEDOM  OF  FRIENDSHIP. 


21  I 


could,  and  after  its  cessation  its  friends,  as  if  un¬ 
willing  to  yield  to  circumstances,  started  Old  and 
New,  in  the  hope  that,  under  another  name  and 
with  more  secular  attractions,  it  might  renew  its 
career.  But  notwithstanding  Edward  E.  Hale’s 
prodigious  efforts  and  singular  genius,  the  competi¬ 
tion  of  other  magazines  was  too  much  for  it,  and 
this,  too,  had  a  short  existence  of  a  few  years  only. 
The  loss  of  such  a  journal  as  the  Examiner ,  so  able, 
so  independent,  so  dispassionate,  so  unpartisan,  so 
high-spirited,  so  consecrated  to  lofty  ideas,  was,  as 
has  been  said,  sorely  regretted.  True,  it  was  always 
u  Christian,”  but  with  such  a  large  and  generous 
interpretation  that  none  save  aggressive  minds  could 
feel  the  limitation.  The  best  essays  of  W.  E.  Chan- 
ning,  James  Walker,  F.  W.  P.  Greenwood,  Orville 
Dewey,  Andrews  Norton,  appeared  there ;  the  keen¬ 
est  criticism  of  books  and  opinions,  the  most 
thoughtful  consideration  of  social  problems.  The 
entire  series  is  a  treasury  of  enlightened  discussion, 
in  which  every  subject  that  concerned  men  twenty 
years  and  more  ago  was  seriously  dealt  with. 

The  literary  influence  of  the  Examiner  was  very 
great,  although  impalpable,  as  the  atmosphere  is. 
Its  editors  were  scholars  as  well  as  thinkers  ;  men  of 
letters  as  well  as  divines,  being  familiar  with  the 
choicest  writing,  and  insisting  on  a  rational  presen¬ 
tation  of  ideas,  the  intellectual  laws  and  not  dog¬ 
matic  prejudices  being  respected.  One  cannot  think 
without  grateful  admiration  of  the  leaders  in  this 


212 


BOSTON  UNITARIANISM. 


enterprise,  the  earnest,  convinced  men,  who  gave 
time  and  strength  to  a  reasonable  revision  of  their 
religion.  Names  that  are  illustrious  lent  their  radi¬ 
ance  to  those  pages.  Names  that  are  unknown  are 
embalmed  there.  When  Mr.  Allen  took  it, — his 
connection  began  in  1857,  under  Dr.  Hedge,  and 
gradually  assumed  more  responsible  proportions,  till 
in  1863  he  became  sole  editor  and  joint  proprietor, 
continuing  managing  editor  from  1865  till  1870, 
when  the  Examiner  was  merged  in  Old  and  New, 
— a  younger  class  of  men  naturally  came  to  the 
front,  other  issues  were  raised,  and  the  character  of 
the  original  review  was  slightly  altered.  Finally, 
on  the  decease  of  Old  and  New ,  there  existed  no 
organ  of  Unitarianism  save  the  Christian  Register 
the  wide-known  weekly  paper  which  continues  its 
liberalizing  work,  takes  an  independent  stand, 
maintaining  the  broadest  rationalism  consistent  with 
faith,  and  does  its  best  to  make  up  for  the  loss  of 
the  larger  magazine. 


IX. 


THE  BOSTON  ASSOCIATION  OF  CONGREGATIONAL 

MINISTERS. 

In  1860  Dr.  Gannett  thus  described  this  conference: 

Thirty-six  years  ago  I  met  in  this  ministerial  circle  Dr. 
Porter,  of  Roxbury,  wise,  calm,  sententious,  from  whose 
remark  in  one  of  our  discussions  I  have  tried  to  draw  comfort 
ever  since  :  “  A  minister  should  feel  that  he  does  no  small 
amount  of  good  in  preventing  the  evil  which  would  show 
itself  if  he  were  not  in  his  place  ”  ;  Dr.  Freeman,  sensibly 
feeling  the  infirmities  of  age,  but  with  a  mind  that  years  had 
only  ripened,  and  a  heart  that  never  grew  old  ;  Dr.  Harris,  of 
Dorchester,  the  faithful  pastor  and  diligent  student,  sensitive, 
tender,  and  devout ;  Dr.  Pierce,  of  Brookline,  always  laden 
with  facts,  and  always  prompt  with  kind  greetings  ;  Dr.  Gray, 
who  never  dreaded  the  truth,  but  who  loved  harmony  more 
than  controversy  ;  Dr.  Tuckerman,  the  minister  of  Chelsea, 
where  he  was  preparing  himself  for  the  work  that  has 
spread  his  name  through  Christendom  ;  Dr.  Richmond,  gentle, 
urbane,  modest ;  Dr.  Channing,  who  came  to  the  meetings  but 
seldom,  but  when  present  showed  his  interest  in  our  purposes  ; 
Dr.  Lowell,  always  genial,  always  faithful,  whose  affectionate 
notes  from  his  retirement  at  Elmwood  show  an  interest  which 
he  has  never  lost  in  us.  Of  the  men  whom  I  accounted 
venerable  as  I  looked  on  their  grave  faces  and  matured  forms 
he  alone  remains.  Of  those  who  stood  on  a  lower  plane  of 
age,  but  were  regarded  with  little  less  of  timid  respect,  onv. 


213 


214 


BOSTON  UNITARIAN ZSM . 


still  gives  us  the  light  of  his  benignant  countenance  and  the 
warmth  of  his  cordial  sympathy  (Dr.  Frothingham),  though  he 
has  chosen  to  withdraw  himself  from  our  professional  labors. 
Parkman  was  with  us,  full  of  terse  sayings,  and  often  disturb¬ 
ing  me  by  a  quotation  from  Scripture  so  apt  that  its  pertinency 
(made  its  irreverence  ;  Mr.  Pierpont,  earnest,  ready,  eloquent  ; 
Henry  Ware,  whose  place  in  our  hearts  is  indicated  by  the 
constancy  with  which  we  spoke  of  him  under  his  Christian 
name,  and  who  could  always  be  relied  on  for  co-operation  in 
every  measure  that  aimed  at  personal  or  social  improvement ; 
Palfrey,  then  as  industrious  in  his  clerical  service,  and  as 
upright  in  his  purposes,  as  he  has  been  laborious  and  con¬ 
sistent  ever  since  ;  Greenwood,  delicate  in  health,  sweet  in 
temper,  spiritual  in  his  tastes,  refined  in  his  habits  ;  Walker, 
steady  in  mind,  as  true  as  steel,  and  as  fraternal  as  he  was 
honest,  he  who  is  now  the  candid  hearer  where  he  was  once 
the  careful  preacher  ;  and  others  who  took  a  less  frequent  or 
less  earnest  part  in  our  meetings. 

These  meetings  were  held  then,  as  now,  twice  every 
month,  at  our  several  houses.  We  were  more  punctual  in  our 
attendance  than  of  late  years,  and  came  together,  as  it  seemed 
to  me,  rather  for  friendly  conversation  than  for  deliberate  dis¬ 
cussion.  Dr.  Lowell  and  Dr.  Pierce  were  the  first  to  appear  ; 
and  more  ecclesiastical  views  and  more  of  the  results  of  our 
professional  experiences  were  exchanged  between  us  than  at 
present.  The  older  members  preferred  the  agreeable  and 
desultory  talk,  which  was  a  refreshment  after  the  exercises  of 
Sunday  ;  while  the  younger  brethren  made  successive — and 
successful — attempts  to  turn  the  afternoon  to  a  more  profitable 
use. 

The  most  distinct  among  the  impressions  which  I  retain  of 
the  years  in  which  I  was  one  of  the  younger  members  of  this 
body  relates  to  the  character  of  our  intercourse  with  one 
another.  It  was  free,  frank,  cordial,  and  healthy  to  a  most 
remarkable  degree.  Difference  of  age,  of  opinion,  of  situation, 
produced  no  estrangement  or  coolness.  Discussions  in  which 


ASSOCIATION  OF  CONGREGATIONAL  MINISTERS.  21  5 


we  maintained  opposite  views  caused  no  heart-burning  or  un¬ 
generous  criticism.  The  playful  remark,  often  bearing  a  sharp 
point,  or  the  severe  dissent  honestly  expressed,  if  it  inflicted  a 
momentary  pain,  only  became  the  occasion  of  a  more  hearty 
confidence.  Perhaps  distance  throws  a  false  light  over  those 
days  ;  but  I  love  to  look  back  on  the  mutual  respect  and  bold 
trust  which  marked  our  social  relations  at  that  time  as  almost 
without  parallel  among  ecclesiastical  men. 

Tliis  encomium  is  well  deserved.  The  same  cor¬ 
diality  existed  in  my  day,  and  was  largely  due,  as  it 
appeared  to  me,  to  the  social  character  of  the  gather¬ 
ings,  and  the  personal  relation  that  existed  among 
the  gentlemen.  They  were  not  professional  assem¬ 
blies  which  put  people  on  their  guard,  and  gave  an 
official  tone  to  the  words  spoken.  The  temper  of 
the  individual  men  alone  came  out,  and  this  could 
easily  be  allowed  for.  In  fact  differences  did  but  lay 
emphasis  on  individuality,  thus  rendering  the  meet¬ 
ings  interesting.  There  could  not  well  be  debate,  in 
other  than  friendly  fashion.  The  custom  of  present¬ 
ing  some  subject  by  the  chairman  ensured  pertinency 
and  gravity,  while  the  rule  of  calling  on  each  one 
present  for  an  expression  of  mind  guaranteed  a  com¬ 
plete  exhibition  of  view.  The  subject  was  always 
one  of  general  concern,  not  sectarian  usually,  and 
the  talk  was  unembarrassed,  friendly,  and  fearless. 
The  meeting  was  in  private  parlors.  The  hour  be¬ 
fore  tea  was  spent  in  pleasant  chat ;  the  hour  after 
tea  was  devoted  to  the  serious  concerns  of  the  even¬ 
ing,  or  the  other  way.  At  all  events  part  of  the 
time  was  set  apart  for  personal  conversation.  Under 


216 


BOSTON  UNIT  A  RIA  NISM. 


such  an  arrangement  much  will  depend  on  the  dis¬ 
position,  or  habit  of  thought,  or  interest,  of  him 
who  conducted  the  meeting.  If  that  was  close  and 
logical  the  spirit  of  the  proceedings  would  show  it. 
If  these  were  discursive  or  vague,  the  tendency 
would  be  exhibited.  For  example,  Dr.  Gannett 
wanted  sharp  definition ;  Dr.  Frothingham,  on  the 
other  hand,  was  better  pleased  by  inclusive  state¬ 
ments.  The  inclination  of  the  former  may  be  illus¬ 
trated  by  the  following  incident.  It  was  customary 
for  the  entertainer  to  open  the  meeting  with  prayer. 
Dr.  Gannett’s  petition  was  long  and  comprehensive, 
including  the  members,  their  churches,  the  sick  and 
bereaved,  the  outside  world,  the  heathen  and  all  who 
came  within  the  range  of  the  gospel.  Dr.  Bartol 
followed  him.  With  upturned  face  and  open  eyes 
and  hands  outstretched  to  heaven,  he  simply  said : 
“  O  Lord,  we  are  here ;  ”  as  much  as  to  say,  “  we  are 
waiting  for  a  blessing.”  The  old  and  the  new  could 
hardly  be  more  sharply  contrasted.  As  regards  my 
father,  I  find  this  entry  in  Dr.  Gannett’s  diary, 
which  I  take  from  Wm.  C.  Gannett’s  admirable 
biography  of  his  father. 

Ministers’  Association  meeting  at  Rev.  Dr.  Nath.  Froth- 
ingham’s.  Large  meeting — thirty  there, — several  not  of  the 
Association.  Subject  of  discussion,  “  Our  Differences.”  Dr. 
Frothingham  said  we  were  all  Rationalists,  all  Naturalists,  all 
Supernaturalists  ;  defining  these  terms  in  his  own  way,  and 
having  acknowleged  and  spoken  of  a  centre  and  two  wings  in 
our  body.  , 


ASSOCIATION-  OF  CONGREGATIONAL  MINISTERS.  21 J 

It  may  be  safely  assumed  that  Dr.  Frothingham’s 
definitions  ”  were,  in  the  eyes  of  a  strict  logician,  no 
definitions  at  all.  He  was  not  one  who  looked  at 
things  through  the  medium  of  logic ;  he  was  rather 
disposed  to  reconcile  divergences  than  to  create  them  ; 
to  take  large  interpretations ;  to  regard  systems  of 
opinion  through  sentiment  and  the  constructive  rea¬ 
son  ;  to  study  the  things  that  made  for  peace.  There 
was  this  difference  of  temperament,  and  the  charm  of 
the  Association  was  the  free  play  of  this  difference. 
The  men  made  the  friendliest  observation  of  one 
another.  There  was  no  official  responsibility  for 
opinion,  and  the  personality  could  come  out  without 
reserve.  It  was  very  different  from  a  public  demon¬ 
stration,  where  men  represented,  not  themselves 
alone,  but  their  social  position,  or  their  ecclesiasti¬ 
cal  situation.  Here  they  could  let  themselves  out 
with  no  danger  of  being  misrepresented  or  com¬ 
promised.  Hence  its  popularity  with  those  whose 
minds  were  full  of  ideas  that  could  not  be  publicly 
communicated.  As  the  meetings  always  were  held 
on  Monday,  when  ministers  usually  felt  exhausted 
from  the  services  of  the  previous  day,  the  members, 
more  or  less  dulled,  preferred,  in  the  main,  light  and 
easy  conversation ;  and,  as  the  intervals  between  the 
meetings  were  mostly,  sometimes  entirely,  spent  in 
parish  duties,  the  talk  turned  naturally  on  parochial 
affairs.  But  the  topics  of  discussion  were  varied,  and 
the  talk  had  a  wide  range.  The  conferences  were 
often  brilliant,  and  when  men  who  read  a  great  deal, 


218 


BOSTON  UNI TA RIA N ISM. 


thought  much,  and  had  a  gift  of  speech,  took  a  lead¬ 
ing  part,  the  listening  was  very  agreeable ;  for  many 
of  the  clergymen  possessed  wit  and  knowledge  and 
fine  perception.  On  occasions  of  excitement,  as 
during  the  Parker  controversy,  which  implicated 
both  theological  and  personal  questions,  the  words 
flew  thick  and  fast  from  nearly  all  lips.  Then  the 
most  silent  had  something  to  say  about  the  duties  of 
the  profession.  The  Parker  episode,  in  J anuary,  1 843r 
was  disagreeable,  for  personal  feeling  was  as  much 
enlisted  as  dogmatical  dissent.  As  the  chairman, 
Dr.  Frothingham,  said,  this  was  an  “association  of 
brethren,”  a  fellowship,  and  that  made  the  situation 
the  more  difficult.  Had  it  been  simply  a  theological 
club,  the  matters  in  dispute  might  have  been  easily 
disposed  of.  Even  stiff  conservatives,  like  Chandler 
Dobbins,  were  touched,  and  extended  a  friendly  hand 
to  the  heresiarch ;  and  many  a  man  who  disagreed 
with  Mr.  Parker  in  doctrine,  yet  who  loved  him  as  a 
man,  wished  him  to  remain  in  the  fraternity.  The 
mixture  of  tenets  with  affection  was,  in  the  main,, 
answerable  for  the  dilemma.  Fortunately  such  con¬ 
fusion  was  rare.  The  intercourse  was  of  the  heart,, 
and  disputation  was  foreign  to  the  purpose  of  the 
conference,  a  circumstance  that  should  be  borne  in 
mind  by  those  who  would  understand  the  proceed¬ 
ings  on  the  occasion  in  question.  Action  was  forced 
upon  the  body,  and  action  quite  inconsistent  with  its 
original  constitution.  Hence  the  apparent  severity 
of  some,  and  the  seeming  generosity  of  others  whose 


ASSOCIATION  OF  CONGREGATIONAL  MINISTERS.  21 9 

real  opinions  were  covered  up  beneath  personal 
kindness. 

The  institution  was  old  as  we  estimate  age.  Dr. 
John  Pierce,  who  was  an  authority  on  dates,  men¬ 
tioned  Rev.  Simeon  Howard,  D.D.,  as  finishing  a 
seventeen  years’  term  as  Moderator,  in  1804.  Dr. 
Pierce  was  himself  “  approbated  ”  by  the  Association 
to  preach,  on  February  22,  1796.  The  Association 
may  be  supposed  to  have  been  of  English  origin, 
as  the  Thursday  Lecture  was.  It  is  said  to  have 
come  from  Bodmin,  in  Cornwall,  and  to  have  been  in¬ 
troduced  into  this  country  by  Rev.  Charles  Morton, 
who  was  a  member  of  it  both  in  the  old  home  and 
the  new,  the  only  man  of  whom  this  can  be  affirmed ; 
but  it  must  have  been  much  older,  as  it  was  objected 
to  by  Roger  Williams  on  the  ground  of  its  restrictive 
tendencies.  Mr.  Morton  was  a  graduate  of  Oxford, 
and  rector  of  Blissland,  in  Cornwall.  Being  ejected 
thence  on  account  of  his  Independency,  he  taught 
classes  till  1686, — Daniel  De  Foe  being  one  of  his 
pupils, — when  he  came  to  New  England,  eminent  for 
learning  and  piety,  as  is  evidenced  by  the  report  that 
he  was  invited  to  assume  the  presidency  of  Harvard 
College,  which,  it  is  said,  was  made  up  for  by  a  pul¬ 
pit  in  Charlestown. 

The  earliest  record  in  England  is  1655.  The  ear¬ 
liest  here  is  at  Charlestown,  in  1690,  October  13th. 
The  last  date  in  England  is  1659.  The  observance 
was  often  interrupted,  or  the  record  has  been  lost. 
Certainly  the  record  has  been  lost,  and  it  is  fair  to 


220 


BOSTON  UNITARIANISM . 


presume  that,  in  those  stormy  days,  the  meetings 
were  irregular.  It  was  natural  that  the  outcasts 
should  hock  together  for  mutual  support,  enlighten¬ 
ment,  and  counsel,  and  that  the  exiles  should  con¬ 
tinue  in  the  new  country  a  fellowship  which  they 
had  formed  in  the  old.  They  must  hold  to  one  an¬ 
other,  for  they  were  defenceless.  The  Association  was 
formed  “  for  promoting  the  Gospel  and  our  mutual 
assistance  and  furtherance  in  that  great  work.”  It 
was  a  kind  of  clerical  club  intended  to  encourage  the 
ministers  and  foster  a  fraternal  feeling,  and  there 
was  therefore  a  mingling  in  it  of  professional  serious¬ 
ness  and  personal  warmth.  The  meetings  were  held 
at  first  once  in  a  month,  in  Charlestown  every  six 
weeks ;  and  always  on  Monday,  at  such  hour  as  was 
most  convenient,  sometimes  at  nine  o’clock  in  the 
forenoon.  The  scanty  English  records  mention 
the  examination  and  confirmation  and  ordination  of 
candidates  for  the  ministry  as  among  the  duties  of 
the  body,  an  important  office  in  England,  where  the 
Puritans  were  jealously  watched,  and  in  America 
where  they  were  few,  and  had  to  be  careful  lest  wolves 
got  into  the  sheepfold.  A  scribe  was  necessary  to 
keep  the  records  and  a  Moderator  to  preside  at  the 
meetings.  The  latter  was  chosen  every  time  for  the 
next  assemblage,  and  one  of  his  duties  was  to  pro¬ 
pose  a  subject  for  discussion.  Forty  or  fifty  ques¬ 
tions  were  submitted  in  course  of  time,  mostly 
relating  to  ecclesiastical  and  pastoral  affairs,  of  course, 
but  often  social  and  ethical.  This  is  a  specimen  : 


ASSOCIATION  OF  CONGREGATIONAL  MINISTERS.  221 


“  Whether  an  examination  by  the  members  is  incum¬ 
bent  on  those  who  wish  to  partake  of  the  Lord’s 
Supper  ”  ;  “  The  marriage  of  cousins-gennan.”  The 
subjects  were  such  as  interested  the  members,  and 
changed  according  to  the  exigency  of  the  place  and 
period, — now  the  speculative,  now  the  moral  predom¬ 
inating.  Whatever  the  theme  announced,  the  aim 
was  practical.  On  several  occasions  a  committee  was 
appointed  to  present  a  list  of  questions.  At  one 
time  a  paper  was  read  by  some  gentleman,  of  his 
own  choice,  and  made  the  ground  for  discussion  or 
conversation.  Then,  for  a  season,  there  was  no  for. 
mal  topic.  To  strengthen  the  bond  of  union  and 
render  the  meetings  profitable  was  the  end  kept 
steadily  in  view.  Several  lists  of  questions  are  given 
in  the  record.  It  is  not  worth  while  to  copy  them, 
as  they  reflect  simply  the  spirit  prevailing  at  the 
period  of  their  preparation,  and  if  any  were  given 
all  should  be.  It  is  enough  to  note  here  that  the 
men  were  wide-awake — no  fossils,  no  fogies,  no 
priests.  The  following  titles  prove  that :  “  Spiritu¬ 
alism,”  “  Buddhism,”  “  Social  Meetings,”  “  The  Broad 
Church,”  “  Prayers  of  Episcopacy,”  “  Progress  of 
Bomanism,”  “  The  Advantages  of  Episcopacy,”  “  Sci¬ 
ence  and  Faith,”  “  Intemperance,”  “  The  Politico- 
Moral  Aspect  of  the  John  Brown  Tragedy,”  “  The 
Abuses  of  Fast-Day,”  “  The  Sunday-School,”  “  The 
Afternoon  Service,”  “  The  War,”  “Slavery,”  “The 
Higher  Law,”  “  Individualism,”  “  The  Demand  of 
the  Times  on  us”  (1862),  “The  ^Esthetic  Element 


222 


BOSTON  UNIT  A  R1A  NISM. 


in  Worship,”  u  Do  we  Need  a  New  Cultus  \  ”  “  Uni¬ 
versity  Education,”  “  The  Vices  to  which  Ministers 
are  Exposed,”  “  Divorce,”  “  The  Ideal  Church.” 

The  meetings  were  in  the  afternoons  at  various 
hours — 3  : 30,  4,  5,  5  :  30,  as  seemed  expedient.  Some¬ 
times  the  business  was  all  done  before  tea ;  sometimes 
the  more  serious  part  was  introduced  later.  The 
exercises  were  always  opened  with  prayer.  In  my 
youth  the  evenings  were  devoted  to  essay  or  discus¬ 
sion  ;  at  present  the  evening  is  free,  and  the  whole 
business  is  finished  between  four  and  six  o’clock. 
The  oldest  member  is  chosen  Moderator,  and  he 
serves  as  long  as  he  will.  In  regard  to  licensing 
ministers,  it  was  unanimously  voted,  in  1854:  1. 
That  this  Association  annuls  any  former  vote  or 
usage  by  which  it  may  have  recognized  simple  cer¬ 
tificates  of  theological  study  or  church  membership 
as  sufficient  conditions  for  admission  to  our  pulpits 
and  for  our  participation  in  the  ordination  of  candi¬ 
dates  for  the  ministry.  2.  That,  to  guide  the  future 
action  of  this  Association  in  admitting  candidates  to 
the  ministry,  we  require  a  testimonial  from  a  mem¬ 
ber,  or  a  brother  minister  introducing  each  candidate, 
and  such  an  examination  as  may  satisfy  the  brethren 
of  his  Christian  belief  and  feelings  for  the  ministry. 
3.  That,  in  thus  returning  to  its  former  practice, 
this  Association  requires  each  candidate  to  present 
his  testimonials  at  a  meeting  preceding  that  at  which 
they  are  to  be  acted  on,  and  also  to  prepare  a  dis¬ 
course  on  some  subject  assigned  at  a  previous  meet- 


ASSOCIATION  OF  CONGREGATIONAL  MINISTERS.  223 

ing.  4.  That,  in  conducting  an  examination  of  a 
candidate  for  the  ministry,  we  shall  consider  it  indis¬ 
pensable  that  the  candidate  express  unequivocally 
his  belief  in  the  supernatural  origin  and  character 
of  Christianity.  And  the  scribe  was,  by  vote,  in¬ 
structed  to  communicate  the  foregoing  resolutions  to 
the  ministerial  associations  enumerated  in  the  Uni¬ 
tarian  Congregational  Register,  and  to  the  professors 
of  our  theological  school. 

The  boundaries  of  the  Association  were  at  first 
restricted  to  Boston  and  its  immediate  vicinity ;  min¬ 
isters  of  Chelsea  and  Braintree,  who  wished  to  come 
in,  being  courteously  reminded  that  they  lived  be¬ 
yond  the  precincts.  The  provision  was  necessary,  as 
the  towns  multiplied  and  enlarged  room  had  to  be 
economized.  It  was  a  simple  matter  of  space.  There 
were  twenty-seven  members  in  1847,  and  they  were 
never  all  present  at  the  same  time.  But  they  might 
be.  The  attendance  was  very  uncertain.  Much  de¬ 
pended  on  the  weather,  or  other  engagements  or 
attractions,  and  on  the  interest  excited  in  the  subject 
to  be  considered.  Now  and  then  the  assemblage 
was  too  small  for  any  discussion.  Then  again  the 
parlor  would  be  full.  But  the  feeling  of  fellowship 
was  warm  and  eas;er. 

Rev.  Thomas  Gray,  of  Jamaica  Plain,  for  many 
years  Moderator  of  the  Association,  and  the  first  can¬ 
didate  who  was  examined  and  approved  by  vote,  as 
appears  in  the  record,  March  12,  1792,  died  on  June 
1,  1847,  aged  seventy-five  years.  He  is  spoken  of  as 


224 


BOSTON  UNI T A RIA N ISM. 


“  of  a  gentle  and  kindly  spirit.  Those  who  were  not 
his  admirers,  were  his  friends.  He  had  no  enemies.” 

The  venerable  Hr.  John  Pierce  died  in  October, 
1849,  seventy-six  years  old  and  a  little  more.  He 
was  a  member  of  the  Association  for  upwards  of 
half  a  century,  its  Moderator  for  six  years,  and  sel¬ 
dom  absent  from  the  meetings.  He  was  known  for 
his  many  Christian  virtues,  was  an  ardent  and  active 
friend  of  temperance,  and  a  sincerely  humble,  devout 
man.  His  sick  chamber  was  a  sacred  and  joyous 
spot  which  it  was  a  privilege  to  visit.  One  hundred 
and  twenty  clergymen,  representing  seven  different 
denominations,  came  there,  and  had  their  trust  and 
hope  confirmed.  From  his  chamber  he  sent  a  greet¬ 
ing  to  his  brethren  of  the  Association,  which  re¬ 
sponded  through  a  special  committee  consisting  of 
Francis  Parkman,  Ezra  S.  Gannett,  and  Samuel  K. 
Lothrop.  They  said  most  truly  :  “  To  the  satisfac¬ 
tions  of  such  an  union,  you,  dear  Sir,  have  ever  eagerly 
contributed.  By  the  frankness  and  cordiality  of  in¬ 
tercourse,  alike  with  the  elder  and  the  younger,  by 
your  hearty  ‘  love  of  the  brethren,’  by  your  knowl¬ 
edge  and  faithful  memory  preserving  for  us  the  his¬ 
tory  of  the  past  and  the  recorded  wisdom  of  the 
fathers,  you  have  been  to  us  at  once  a  counsellor  and 
a  brother.” 

When  it  came  Hr.  Parkman’s  turn  to  die  (on  No¬ 
vember  12, 1852),  he  was  celebrated  as  “  one  who  loved 
his  calling  and  discharged  all  its  duties  with  untiring 
devotedness.  As  a  preacher  he  was  practical  and 


ASSOCIATION  OF  CONGREGATIONAL  MINISTERS.  22 5 

evangelical.  As  a  pastor  tender  and  affectionate. 
He  was  a  man  of  active  and  useful  charities,  a  friend 
to  learning,  a  punctual  member  or  energetic  officer 
of  many  literary,  philanthropic,  and  religious  associa¬ 
tions,  as  well  as  a  true  friend  of  the  worthy  poor. 
He  4  loved  the  brethren.7  He  was  4  given  to  hospital¬ 
ity  7 — distributing  to  the  necessities  of  saints.77 

Hr.  Young  was  characterized  as  “to  his  congrega¬ 
tion,  an  eloquent,  sound  and  acceptable  preacher,  and 
a  friendly  pastor.  And  his  brethren  in  the  ministry 
will  long  deplore  his  removal  from  the  midst  of 
them.77 

A  tribute  was  paid  to  Frederick  T.  Gray,  the  devot¬ 
ed  minister,  whose  zeal  and  success  were  so  conspicu¬ 
ous  in  developing  the  religious  nature  of  the  young, 
and  among  the  poor,  and  who  was  distinguished  as  an 
inculcator  of  the  plain,  moral  lessons  of  the  New 
Testament.  In  the  intervals  of  his  last  suffering  he 
sent  messages  of  affection  to  his  friends,  mentioning 
the  “  brethren  77  in  the  same  breath  with  the  “  poor,77 
and  with  “  children.77 

The  following  affectionate  mention  of  Rev.  Hr. 
Samuel  Barrett  is  copied  from  the  record  of  June, 
1866:  “His  kindly  presence,  his  true  spirit  of  Chris¬ 
tian  fellowship,  his  benign  interest  in  all  that  is  good, 
will  be  missed  by  the  brethren  with  whom  he  rarely 
failed  to  meet  until  the  disabilities  of  sickness  were 
laid  upon  him.77 

On  the  decease  of  Hr.  Frothingham — April  4, 1870 

— the  Association  rendered  a  meed  of  praise.  Its 
15 


226 


BOSTON  UNIT  A  RIA  NISM. 


scribe  was  instructed  to  write  a  letter  to  the  family, 
from  which  the  following  is  an  extract :  “  His  breth¬ 
ren  remember  with  pride  the  distinction  with  which 
he  illustrated  his  sacred  calling;  but  they  cherish 
with  joy  the  memory  of  the  playful  wit,  the  gener¬ 
ous  communication,  the  high  example  of  scholarly 
attainment,  the  spiritual  ideal,  by  which  he  enriched 
our  meetings,  and  added  a  peculiar  grace  to  our  fel¬ 
lowship  ;  and  they  are  still  cheered  by  the  encourage¬ 
ment  of  his  ministerial  fidelity,  the  inspiration  of  his 
rare  culture,  the  sweetness  and  sunshine  of  his 
faith.” 

This  was  the  circle  in  which  the  genius  of  Dr. 
Frothingham  shone.  He  delighted  in  the  freedom, 
the  respect  for  individual  opinion,  the  sympathy  in 
religious  feeling.  Its  intercourse  refreshed  and 
aroused  him ;  offered  room  for  his  mind,  and  space 
for  the  movement  of  his  affections.  His  best  things 
were  said  there,  in  the  suddenness  of  immediate  sug¬ 
gestion.  But  that  nothing  spoken  in  conversation 
was  allowed  to  go  upon  the  records,  words  of  pene¬ 
trating  wisdom  and  acute  criticism  might  be  quoted. 
As  it  is,  they  must  remain  in  the  memory  of  those 
who  heard  them. 

As  originally  constituted,  the  Association  was,  of 
necessity,  Calvinistic.  But  disintegration  began 
early.  Theology  became  softened  by  rapid  degrees. 
Even  before  the  Revolution,  schism  set  in.  The 
writings  of  Thomas  Paine  were  widely  read,  and 
new  thoughts  were  suggested.  The  leaven  of  seep- 


ASSOCIATION  OF  CONGREGATIONAL  MINISTERS.  22  J 

ticism  worked  in  high  places.  One  by  one  men 
became  dissatisfied  with  the  prevailing  tenets,  and 
lost  interest  in  the  ancient  connections.  Arminianism 
crept  in ;  Anti-trinitarianism  was  not  uncommon ; 
Universalism  was  diffused  among  the  people.  The 
ease  with  which  King’s  Chapel  was  carried  over  from 
Episcopalianism  to  TTnitarianism  showed  the  popular 
tendency.  The  rights  of  reason  and  conscience  were 
powerfully  presented.  The  natural  instincts  of  the 
heart  cried  loudly  for  recognition.  So  that,  long 
before  the  final  controversy,  the  cleavage  was  mani¬ 
fest.  In  my  father’s  day  Unitarianism  was  mixed 
with  Orthodoxy,  as  it  is  even  yet  in  some  degree. 
But  at  recent  meetings  of  the  Association  I  have 
heard  sentiments  advanced  that  would  not  have  been 
listened  to  half  a  century  or  even  twenty-five  years 
ago.  By  its  liberality  of  expression  the  Boston 
Association  became  a  nursery  of  liberal  thinking. 
The  heart  has  led  the  understanding. 


X. 


THE  END. 

My  motlier  died  in  the  summer  of  1864.  It  was 
on  the  night  of  July  4th.  She  had  seemed  as  well 
as  usual,  had  sat  on  the  piazza  of  her  country  house 
at  Burlington,  Massachusetts,  and  watched  the  sun¬ 
set  ;  then  she  went  trustingly  to  bed,  and  never  woke 
again.  Her  disease  was  consumption.  She  went  to 
Europe,  for  the  first  time,  in  the  spring  of  1860,  spent 
eighteen  months  abroad  in  perfect  enjoyment,  doing 
laborious  things — ascending  Vesuvius,  for  instance, 
— and  came  home  in  the  autumn  of  1861.  A  cold 
taken  in  the  early  winter  settled  on  the  lungs ;  a 
winter  in  Madeira,  in  1862-3,  did  not  effect  a  cure; 
the  malady  deepened,  and  proved  fatal  a  little  more 
than  a  year  after  her  return.  She  was,  in  some 
respects,  a  remarkable  woman,  illustrating  the  old 
saying  that  extremes  meet.  She  was  a  wonder  of 
practical  goodness,  a  marvel  of  kindly  common- 
sense  ;  simple  in  her  tastes,  plain  in  her  habits, 
serious  in  her  views  of  life,  devoted  to  the  custom¬ 
ary  daily  duties  of  existence,  gentle,  patient,  kind  as 
the  kindest  to  those  who  needed  kindness  most ; 


22S 


THE  END. 


229 


a  mother  who  would  give  her  life  to  her  children ;  a 
wife  who  was  all  in  all  to  her  husband.  Her  crown¬ 
ing  grace  was  affection ;  her  distinguishing  virtue 
was  humility,  which  was  unaffected.  She  was  an 
enemy  to  all  untruthfulness  and  all  sentimentality. 
She  needed  no  apostolic  assurance  to  be  convinced 
that  “  no  man  should  think  of  himself  more  highly 
than  he  ought  to  think.  .  .  If  a  man  think  himself 
to  be  something  when  he  is  nothing,  he  deceiveth 
himself.”  She  had  no  doubt  of  it,  and  to  her  it 
seemed  that  the  number  of  such  self-deceived  people 
was  very  large.  She  abhorred  pretence  so  heartily  that 
she  was  inclined  to  suspect  it  where  it  did  not  actually 
exist,  and  the  inconsiderate  might  sometimes  accuse 
her  of  not  doing  full  justice  to  the  sincerity  wrhich 
an  appearance  of  vanity  concealed  from  sight,  not 
being  metaphysician  enough  to  distinguish  between 
faults  of  physical  organization  and  faults  of  moral 
character. 

Connected  with  her  humility  in  the  sight  of 
heaven  was  independence  of  the  opinions  of  people 
and  a  singular  frankness  in  expressing  it.  Her 
courage  was  unflinching.  She  shrank  from  nothing. 
No  pain  daunted  her,  no  suffering.  Not  that  she 
was  insensible  to  agony ;  on  the  contrary,  she  felt  it 
keenly  ;  but  when  she  was  convinced  that  the  inev¬ 
itable  must  be  borne,  she  submitted  without  a  mur¬ 
mur  or  a  remonstrance  ;  she  even  insisted  on  the 
performance  of  whatever  was  necessary*  enduring 
sharp  torture,  if  required,  rather  than  avoid  what 


230 


BOSTON  UNIT  A  RIANISM. 


was  repugnant  to  her  judgment.  She  was  no  philos¬ 
opher  of  any  description  or  degree,  but  an  honest, 
unsophisticated  woman  who  took  no  merit  to  her¬ 
self  for  what  she  did  or  was,  and  who,  mindful  of 
her  own  shortcomings,  was  not  too  ready  to  glorify 
the  merits  of  others.  To  literary  knowledge  or 
judgment  she  made  no  claim;  appreciating  accom¬ 
plishments  in  others,  she  possessed  none  of  any  kind. 
She  was  not  “  a  woman  of  soul,”  nor  any  lover  of 
such,  though  her  habit  of  speaking  no  ill  of  her 
neighbor  prevented  her  from  wronging  those  she  did 
not  understand.  She  lived  happily,  and  more  than 
contented  in  her  own  world,  accepting  without 
question  the  place  which  divine  Providence  had 
assigned  to  her,  satisfied  that  others  should  have  their 
places.  Her  faith  was  that,  of  a  child  in  the  institu¬ 
tions  she  was  born  under.  If  she  had  misgivings, 
she  modestly  kept  them  to  herself.  An  optimist  she 
was  not ;  as  little  was  she  a  pessimist.  She  had  not 
the  presumption  to  be  either,  probably  she  did  not 
know  what  those  cabalistical  words  meant.  She  was 
a  true-hearted  woman,  who  took  things  as  they  were 
without  useless  speculation  or  protest,  and  did  what 
she  could  to  make  the  world  about  her  what  it 
should  be,  by  being  a  charitable  friend  to  the  poor,  a 
helper  to  the  weak,  a  consoler  to  the  afflicted,  a 
merciful  judge  to  the  erring.  She  was  intelligent 
rather  than  intellectual,  a  fit  companion  for  a  man  of 
interior  habits,  whose  daily  commerce  was  with  the 
objects  of  an  ideal  sphere. 


THE  END. 


231 


Her  practical  judgment,  which  was  extraordinary, 
balanced  his  speculative  insight ;  her  single-minded, 
straightforward  vision,  disregarding  incidental  con¬ 
siderations  of  policy  or  comfort,  but  penetrating  to 
the  heart  of  the  subject,  was  happily  contrasted  with 
a  mental  allsidedness  which  disqualified  him  for 
going  at  once  to  the  central  point  in  question ;  her 
brave  acceptance  of  results  eked  out  the  timidity 
which  shrank  from  occupying  an  exposed  position ; 
her  solid  weight  of  character  held  to  the  ground  one 
whose  tendency  was  to  float  too  much  in  the  air. 
She  was  a  very  strong  woman,  in  her  way,  and  had 
her  lot  fallen  in  the  present  generation,  which 
attaches  so  much  importance  to  the  full  develop, 
ment  of  feminine  genius,  she  might  have  been  as 
remarkable  for  mental  as  for  moral  quality.  Though 
serenely  happy,  she  was  seldom  gay ;  her  moods  were 
even.  If  she  did  not  soar,  she  did  not  sink,  and  was 
the  better  able  to  meet  the  disappointments  that 
crush  volatile  natures.  When  expectation  flies  low, 
the  bolt  of  calamity  causes  no  fatal  fall.  In  enthusi¬ 
astic  days  such  a  disposition  appears  sober  and  quiet, 
but  in  times  of  discomfiture  it  is  a  consoler  and 
fortifier.  She  was,  indeed,  a  helper  and  a  caretaker. 
If  she  did  not  accompany  her  husband  in  his  excur¬ 
sions  to  the  high  table-lands  of  literature,  she  sur¬ 
rounded  his  life  with  domestic  influences  that  made 
him  happy.  Her  active  qualities  were  so  strong,  so 
sure,  so  steadfast  and  constant,  that  while  she  was  all 
herself,  those  qualities  that  she  was  deficient  in  were 


232 


BOSTON  UNI T A RIA N ISM. 


not  missed.  It  may  be  that  her  limitations,  like  the 
glass  circlet  which  steadies  the  flame  of  the  lamp, 
made  her  real  power  intense  and  luminous. 

As  I  look  back  through  the  mist  of  years  and  re¬ 
call  these  dear  forms,  freed  from  the  trammels  of 
earth  and  transfigured  by  memory,  a  feeling  of  shame 
comes  over  me  that  I  did  not  better  appreciate  them 
when  living ;  a  feeling  of  gratitude  for  all  their  de¬ 
votion  in  the  time  of  my  youth.  My  best  gifts  I 
trace  to  them,  both  of  mind  and  character.  To  my 
father  I  owe  what  I  may  have  of  idealism,  of  imagina¬ 
tiveness,  of  fondness  for  literature,  of  fastidiousness 
in  regard  to  persons  and  books,  my  conservatism  of 
sentiment,  my  freedom  of  intellectual  movement ; 
only  the  wave  goes  up  the  shore  farther  than  it 
did  a  generation  ago,  and  I  have  spoken  in  public 
what  he  meditated  in  his  study,  carrying  out  what 
he  adumbrated.  To  my  mother  is  due  a  simplicity 
of  purpose,  a  directness  of  aim,  an  outspokenness  of 
conviction,  a  frankness  aud  fearlessness  of  utterance 
that,  when  fully  developed,  seemed  to  her  rash  if 
not  supercilious.  So  easily  is  malleable  iron  changed 
into  steel,  and  the  ploughshare  turned  into  a  sword ! 
Her  loss  was  a  heavy  blow  to  him ;  not  a  sorrow 
merely,  but  a  severe  nervous  and  constitutional  shock 
that  affected  even  his  physical  nature,  impairing  his 
power  of  resistance.  It  was  like  taking  away  the 
prop  he  leaned  on  for  daily  support.  He  was  weak¬ 
er  and  more  helpless.  The  year  after  her  death  he 
underwent  an  operation  on  his  eyes.  This  was  un- 


THE  END. 


233 


successful,  and  resulted  in  the  extinguishment  of  the 
little  light  he  had.  He  became  totally  blind,  so  that 
he  could  not  distinguish  light  from  darkness.  The 
disease  was  of  the  nature  of  glaucoma,  and  was  in¬ 
curable.  In-doors  he  was  dependent  on  a  reader,  the 
daughter  of  his  old  friend  Joseph  T.  Buckingham, 
a  lady  to  whom  in  her  youth  he  had  been  very  kind, 
who  was  fond  of  books,  conversant  with  ideas,  and 
devoted  to  him,  glad  to  serve  him  in  his  library  and 
to  read  to  him  whatever  he  desired — articles  in  re¬ 
views,  essays,  novels,  poems,  stories.  She  was  in¬ 
valuable  to  him.  Eyes  was  she  to  the  blind,  and 
feet  was  she  to  the  lame  in  the  house.  Out  of  the 
house  his  son  walked  with  him,  guiding  his  steps 
through  the  thoroughfares  of  the  city,  and  describ¬ 
ing  the  monuments  as  they  passed.  I  remember 
standing  with  him  before  the  statue  of  Hamilton, 
then  just  erected  in  Commonwealth  Avenue,  and 
trying  to  bring  it  before  his  mind.  And  I  remember 
one  day  in  our  walk  telling  him  of  a  lady  I  had  met 
who  reminded  me  of  mother.  Hereupon  he  went 
into  rapturous  reminiscences,  as  if  his  past  was  ever 
present  with  him.  And  I  remember  how  on  his  last 
bed,  sitting  by  his  side  and  wishing  to  say  a  comfort¬ 
ing  word,  I  spoke  of  the  blessed  people  who  were 
waiting  on  the  other  side  to  welcome  him,  and  at  the 
mention  of  his  wife  his  face  lighted  up,  the  tears 
rolled  down  his  cheek,  and  the  consciousness  of  im¬ 
mediate  distress  was  lost  in  the  blissful  prospect  of 
joining  her  who  had  gone  before.  He  was  delighted 


234 


BOSTON  UNIT  A  RIANISM. 


to  see  liis  friends,  entertaining  them  as  of  old  with 
his  wit,  never  dwelling  on  his  disabilities,  never  com¬ 
plaining  or  repining,  and  making  them  happier  than 
they  were  before.  If  there  was  occasion  to  speak 
of  himself  it  was  in  a  frank  spirit,  dutiful,  trusting, 
and  cheerful.  “  I  shall  try  to  behave,”  he  said,  and 
endeavor  was  required  for  that.  His  hours  of  weak¬ 
ness  were  few,  his  hours  of  distrust  none.  When 
heavier  reading  became  unwelcome  he  fell  back  on 
lighter,  and  when  this  became  unacceptable,  the 
translation  of  German  hymns  was  a  resource.  These 
were  printed  afterwards  in  the  second  series  of  the 
“  Metrical  Pieces.”  The  solemn  pathos,  the  fervent 
aspiration,  the  tender,  filial  spirit  touched  his  senti¬ 
ment,  while  the  poetic  form  charmed  his  love  of 
melody.  I  can  see  him  now,  sitting  in  his  arm-chair, 
committing  to  memory  the  lines  as  they  were  read, 
turning  them  over  in  his  mind  and  reproducing  them 
in  English,  in  the  same  metre  as  the  original,  always 
preserving  the  tone  and,  as  nearly  as  possible,  the 
expressions  of  his  model.  So  full,  active,  precise 
was  his  mind  !  So  intellectual  were  his  tastes  !  So 
devout  were  his  feelings  !  Thus  it  continued  as  long 
as  any  mental  effort  was  possible,  then  he  took  to 
his  bed,  where  he  did  not  linger  long  ere  death 
brought  release. 

At  his  funeral,  his  friend  Dr.  Hedge,  among  other 
things,  said  this : 

As  a  preacher,  he  could  hardly  be  said  to  be  popular.  Ex¬ 
cessive  refinement,  want  of  rapport  with  the  common  mind, 


THE  END . 


235 


precluded  those  homely  applications  of  practical  truth  which 
take  the  multitude.  Nor  did  he  feel  sufficient  interest  in 
doctrinal  theology  to  satisfy  those  who  craved  systematic  in¬ 
struction  in  that  line.  His  reputation,  therefore,  was  less  ex¬ 
tended  than  intense.  The  circle  of  his  admirers  was  small ; 
but  those  who  composed  it  listened  to  him  with  enthusiastic 
delight.  When,  occasionally,  he  preached  to  us  students  at  the 
University,  from  the  pulpit  of  the  College  Chapel,  there  was 
no  one,  I  think,  to  whom  we  listened  with  attention  more  pro¬ 
found  ;  and,  for  myself,  I  can  say  with  richer  intellectual 
profit.  The  poetic  beauty  of  his  thought,  the  pointed  aptness 
of  his  illustrations,  the  truth  and  sweetness  of  the  sentiment, 
the  singular  and  sometimes  quaint  selectness,  with  nothing 
inflated  or  declamatory  in  it,  of  the  language,  won  my  heart, 
and  made  him  my  favorite  among  the  preachers  of  that  day. 
I  will  not  mispraise  him  when  dead,  whom  living  I  could  not 
flatter.  I  am  well  aware,  and  was  even  then  aware,  that  the 
preaching  of  our  friend  did  not  satisfy  the  class  of  minds  to 
which  Channing  in  his  way,  and  Walker  and  Ware  and  Lowell, 
so  ably  ministered  in  theirs  ;  but  preaching  has  other  legiti¬ 
mate  and  important  functions  beside  those  of  unfolding  the 
philosophy  of  religion,  or  stimulating  the  moral  sense.  There 
are  “differences  of  gifts,”  and  there  are  “diversities  of  opera¬ 
tions  ”  ;  but  the  same  spirit  goes  with  all  earnest  effort  in  the 
•service  of  truth,  and  is  justified  in  all. 

One  service  Dr.  Frothingham  has  rendered  to  the  Church 
and  the  cause  of  religion,  in  which  he  is  unsurpassed  by  any 
preacher  of  his  connection, — perhaps,  I  may  say,  by  any 
American  preacher  of  his  time.  I  speak  of  his  hymns,  which 
will  live,  I  believe, — I  am  sure  they  deserve  to  live, — as  long 
as  any  hymns  in  our  collections.  His  musical  tact,  his  in¬ 
timate  knowledge  of  the  exigencies  of  vocalism,  combining 
with  his  poetic  faculty,  have  added,  in  those  hymns  of  his,  to 
devout  aspiration  and  pure  religious  sentiment  the  perfection 
of  melody. 


236 


BOSTON  UNITARIANISM. 


An  exquisite  finish,  a  polished  elegance  of  thought  and 
phrase,  distinguished  his  performances,  even  the  most  trifling, 
and  made  them  a  study  of  good  taste  and  good  speech.  In 
familiar  discourse,  when  most  at  his  ease,  the  unstudied  and 
innate  grace  of  his  mind  gave  a  peculiar  and  emphatic  zest  to 
his  conversation.  Nothing  awkward  ever  fell  from  his  lips. 
His  words  expressed  with  unerring  fitness  the  thing  most  fit  to 
be  expressed.  .  .  . 

We  love  to  remember,  and  shall  long  remember,  the  charm 
of  his  discourse,  his  wide  culture,  the  sparkle  of  his  wit,  the 
flowers  of  rhetoric  and  song  with  which  he  adorned  his  path  and 
gladdened  ours.  .  .  . 

This  was  a  man  beloved  of  many,  and  most  worthy  to  be 
loved,  for  his  own  sake,  and  the  beautiful  and  endearing  quali¬ 
ties  which  nearer  acquaintance  revealed  in  him.  But  love,  it 
is  said,  is  partial  ;  it  has  no  authorized  voice  in  the  court  which 
tries  character,  either  as  witness  or  as  judge.  Love  partial  ? 
I  think  not.  Love  can  be  critical  ;  it  is  naturally  so  from  its 
very  concern  for  the  good  of  its  object.  We  see  very  clearly 
the  faults  of  those  we  love,  and  we  love  them  none  the  less  on 
account  of  those  faults.  But  then  there  are  faults,  and  those 
of  the  worst  kind,  which  preclude  love  ;  which  alienate  friend¬ 
ship,  repel  affection.  Inordinate  selfishness,  vanity,  falsity, 
malignity,  arrogance,  baseness  of  every  sort, — these  are  quali¬ 
ties  which  no  man  can  love.  These  are  qualities  no  friendship 
can  abide,  which  none  can  possess  and  continue  to  be  loved. 
The  fact,  then,  that  he  of  whom  I  speak  was  so  endeared  to 
a  large  circle  of  attached  friends,  independently  of  all  ties  of 
kindred  and  blood, — friends  whose  friendship  strengthened 
with  acquaintance ;  who  cleaved  to  him  when  all  charm  had 
vanished  from  his  converse  and  all  brilliancy  had  gone  out  of 
his  life, — is  a  proof  of  the  absence  in  him  of  all  such  qualities 
as  I  have  named.  But  to  speak  positively  of  that  which  I 
found  in  him,  I  have  to  say  that  our  friend,  as  I  judged  him, 
was  truthful  and  sincere  ;  gentle,  generous,  and  kindly  affec- 
tioned  ;  humane,  free  from  all  arrogance  or  self-conceit  ;  that 


THE  END. 


237 


his  was  the  charity  that  “  envieth  not,”  that  “  vaunteth  not 
itself,”  that  “  is  not  puffed  up,”  that  “thinketh  no  evil.” 

What  especially  impressed  me  in  my  long  and  close  observa¬ 
tion  of  the  man,  and  what  I  consider  to  be  a  decisive  test 
of  character,  was  his  prompt  and  generous  recognition  of 
talent,  faculty,  or  merit  in  others  ;  particularly  in  those  of  his 
own  profession,  competitors  with  him  in  a  common  career  ; 
the  absence  of  any  thing  approaching  to  jealousy  or  bitter¬ 
ness,  when  the  prize  of  popularity,  denied  to  him,  was  freely 
bestowed  on  his  inferiors.  His  eye  was  quick  to  discern,  and 
his  heart  was  prompt  to  appreciate,  and  his  tongue  to  acknowl¬ 
edge,  what  was  excellent  in  every  performance,  or  the  promise 
of  excellence  yet  to  come.  He  welcomed  the  rising  talent  of 
his  juniors  in  office  ;  he  was  even  willing  to  believe  in  it  where 
there  was  none.  I  am  indebted  to  him  for  the  best  encourage¬ 
ment  I  received  in  my  youth.  Meanwhile,  he  never  quarrelled 
with  the  want  of  appreciation  of  his  own  deserts  ;  I  think  he 
underrated  those  deserts  in  his  judgment  of  himself.  He 
whom  I  was  ready  to  place  first  was  quite  content  to  take  the 
lower  room. 

Very  little  there  was  in  him  of  wrath  or  ill-will,  and  that 
little  very  transient.  At  a  time  when  the  lines  of  ecclesiastical 
separation  and  sectarian  exclusion  were  more  distinctly  and 
unrelentingly  drawn  than  now,  he  could  put  himself  in  friendly 
relations  with  the  ministers  of  other  connections  than  his  own. 
And  if,  in  times  of  bitter  controversy  within  the  lines  of  his 
own  denomination,  he  sometimes  misjudged  and  burned  with 
indignation  against  those  whom  he  believed  to  be  enemies  of 
truth  and  religion, — enemies  dangerous  to  social  order, — in 
cooler  moments  he  regretted  with  sorrow  unfeigned  every 
harsh  and  hasty  word  or  act,  and  the  severing  of  old  bonds, 
and  alienation  and  strife  ;  and  desired,  as  he  assured  me,  to 
forget  all  differences,  to  recover  past  fellowship,  and  to  be 
at  peace  with  all  the  world. 

The  crowning  grace  of  his  life  was  the  brave  and  invincible 
patience  with  which  he  bore  the  multiplied  infirmities  of  his 
declining  years. 


238 


BOSTON  U N I T ARIA N ISM. 


There  befell  him  in  those  years  the  affliction  which  is  justly 
reckoned  among  the  greatest  of  physical  calamities — the  loss 
of  sight.  Loss  of  sight  to  a  scholar  with  a  well-stored  library, 
the  habit  of  whose  life  has  been  to  rove  among  his  books,  and 
to  turn  at  any  moment  to  the  passage  needed  for  solace  or  re¬ 
freshment  ;  for  the  verification  of  a  fact,  for  the  resolution  of 
a  doubt  ;  or  help  in  the  perplexity  of  thought,  where  the  right 
word  at  the  right  moment  may  roll  the  burden  of  hours  from 
the  mind  !  Loss  of  sight  to  a  widowed  man,  bereft  of  the  one 
companion  who  best  could  lend  her  guiding  hand  to  his  dark 
steps,  and  best  supply  the  lack  of  eyes  at  all  times  and  in 
every  place  !  Loss  of  sight  to  a  sensitive  man,  accustomed  to 
self-help,  and  nobly  impatient  of  foreign  aid  !  Loss  of  sight 
to  a  lover  of  nature,  to  whom  the  green  of  earth  and  the  blue 
sky,  and  sunset  and  sunrise  and  the  stars,  are  the  heart’s  daily 
bread  !  Friends,  have  you  ever  figured  to  yourselves  what 
that  means, — to  be  a  prisoner  with  open  doors  ;  a  captive  to 
your  own  impotence,  walled  in  by  perpetual  darkness  ;  to 
know  no  difference  between  day  and  night  ;  to  catch  no  eye 
responsive  to  your  own,  the  light  of  no  smile  in  the  face 
of  your  beloved  ;  to  miss  forever  the  glories  of  earth  and 
sky,  the  familiar  aspects  of  every-day  life,  and  all  the  dear 
consuetudes  of  vision  ? 

It  was  because  Dr.  Frothingham  felt  tbis  that  be 
consented  to  undergo  an  almost  hopeless  operation, 
— hopeless  from  the  length  of  the  disease  and  the 
excited  condition  of  bis  mind.  But,  as  be  himself 
touchingly  said  :  “  Truly,  the  light  is  sweet,  and  a 

pleasant  thing  it  is  to  behold  the  sun.” 

Rev.  T.  B.  Fox,  in  the  Boston  Evening  Transcript 
used  the  following  language  : 

Quietly  devoted  to  his  professional  duties,  Dr.  Frothingham’s 
life  was  uneventful  ;  for  it  was  the  life  of  the  student  and  the 
man  of  letters.  His  learning  was  various  and  accurate  ;  and 


THE  END. 


239 


he  was  honored  for  his  acquirements,  as  well  as  for  the  high 
order  of  his  intellectual  gifts.  In  social  converse  he  was  the 
coveted  teacher  and  companion  of  our  best  thinkers  and 
scholars.  His  interest  and  delight  in  literary  pursuits  con¬ 
tinued  unabated  when  others,  suffering  from  infirmities  and 
pains  like  his,  would  have  abandoned  their  books  and  pens, 
and  felt  that  even  to  listen  to  reading  was  a  luxury  to  be  given 
up.  Whilst  sickness  allowed  him  to  work,  he  was  never  idle. 

Dr.  Frothingham  published  several  volumes  of  prose  and 
poetry  ;  and  to  the  Christian  Examiner ,  the  North  American 
Review,  and  several  other  periodicals,  he  frequently  contrib¬ 
uted  articles  of  rare  excellence,  both  as  to  their  substance  and 
their  form.  His  style  was  singularly  pure  and  rich  ;  showing 
a  finish  and  correctness,  in  eloquent  paragraphs  and  exquisite 
sentences,  quite  unrivalled.  His  exaction  and  fastidiousness, 
as  a  critic  of  the  writings  of  others,  were  severely  applied  to 
his  own  productions  ;  and  hence  the  polish,  erudition,  solid 
brilliancy,  lofty  sentiment  and  thoughtfulness,  which  have 
put  them  among  the  best  specimens  of  American  literature. 

Of  Dr.  Frothingham  as  a  man  it  is  hardly  necessary  to 
speak  in  this  community,  to  those  of  his  own  day  and  genera¬ 
tion,  or  to  those  younger  than  himself,  whose  privilege  it  was 
to  meet  him  and  enjoy  intercourse  with  him.  Courteous, 
genial,  hospitable,  liberal  in  his  conservatism,  catholic  in  his 
judgments,  free  from  all  petty  envies  and  jealousies,  without 
ostentation,  and  scorning  loud  or  mere  professions,  there  was 
about  him  a  winning  charm  that  made  his  presence  and  his 
speech  ever  welcome  to  all. 

It  is  impossible,  in  these  necessarily  hurried  lines,  to  pay 
the  tribute  due  to  his  home  virtues,  conscientious  patriotism, 
assiduity  as  a  Christian  teacher,  and  readiness  to  contribute 
all  in  his  power  to  the  advancement  of  sound  learning,  wise 
charities,  refining  art,  and  whatever  else  might  serve  to  pro¬ 
mote  the  intellectual  and  moral  well-being  of  the  community. 

To  his  excellence  and  his  example  in  these  respects  others 
will  hasten  to  do  justice.  We  must  be  content  with  this 
general  and  imperfect  expression  of  regard  for  the  memory 


240 


BOSTON  UNIT  A  RIA  NISM. 


of  one,  whose  works  and  words  are  not  to  be  forgotten  or  the 
less  prized,  because  the  close  of  his  more  than  threescore  and 
ten  years  was  veiled  and  hidden  by  blindness  and  inexorable 
disease. 

Another  friend  and  classmate  bore  witness  to  Dr. 
Frothingliam’s  goodness  of  heart  in  these  words  : 

I  have  personal  knowledge  of  his  kindness  and  generosity, 
for  I  have  been  the  almoner  of  his  bounty  ;  and  I  know  that 
some — I  believe  that  many — recall  his  acts  of  kindness,  and 
bless  his  memory. 

With  Dr.  Frothingham  died  virtually  his  type  of 
Unitarianism.  It  was  the  old-fashioned  faith  with 
a  sentimental  modification.  The  soul  of  a  cast-off  re¬ 
ligion  was  in  it ;  no  new  principle  was  adopted ;  no 
fresh  law  was  invoked.  Neither  Channing’s  idea  of 
the  dignity  of  human  nature,  nor  Mr.  Parker’s  of 
another  source  of  revelation,  was  accepted.  It  was 
“Christian”  after  the  common  definition,  enlarged 
according  to  the  enlightenment  of  the  generation  and 
the  intellectual  culture  demanded  of  educated  men. 
All  speculative  questions  were  avoided.  The  preach¬ 
ing  was  almost  entirely  practical,  and  practical  after 
the  ancient  pattern,  not  according  to  modern  ideas, 
humanitarian  and  social.  Penitence  was  inculcated 
and  humiliation,  and  veneration,  and  almsgiving, 
and  self-distrust,  and  thankfulness  for  usual  mercies, 
and  dependence  on  divine  Providence,  and  submis¬ 
sion  of  reason  to  revelation.  Even  men  like  James 
Walker  and  John  Gorham  Palfrey  dwelt  much  on 
the  virtues  of  “piety”  so  called.  Alexander  Young 


THE  END. 


24I 


was  a  good  example  of  the  usage  popular  at  that 
time  among  “  liberal  Christians,”  moving,  as  they  did, 
along  the  sober  level  of  the  common  morality,  un- 
ecclesiastical,  undogmatical,  following  the  line  of 
simple,  plain,  average  duty.  My  father  tried  to 
render  this  poetical  and  in  a  sense  ideal ;  but  it  sel¬ 
dom  or  never  rose  to  the  height  of  the  spiritual. 
Unitarianism  could  not  be  called  dry  or  negative, 
while  its  ethics  were  so  vital,  but  it  certainly  was 
not  succulent  or  deeply  interior.  It  was  a  reason¬ 
able,  becoming,  dignified,  respectable,  elegant  in  its 
best  aspect,  delicate  system,  not  severely  naturalistic, 
and  only  gently  scholarly ;  conservative,  of  course, 
as  well  of  religious  as  of  social  traditions,  it  was  in 
no  condition  to  sustain  a  shock  from  either  quarter. 
It  was  natural  that  educated,  cultivated  people  of 
literary  tastes  and  high  social  position,  self-respect¬ 
ing,  stable,  gentlemanly,  should  connect  themselves 
with  Unitarian  societies,  for  such  were  supported  by 
external  props,  and  the  congregations  were,  in  fact, 
composed  of  the  comfortable,  the  well-to-do,  the  re¬ 
spectable.  Efforts  were  made  to  prove  that  Unitar¬ 
ianism  was  adapted  to  the  poor,  the  untaught,  the 
simple,  the  tempted,  the  miserable,  but  these  attempts 
were  never  conspicuously  successful.  The  majority 
of  men  preferred  Calvinism  with  its  mysticism  and 
its  fervor.  Natural  conscience  was  not  enough  for 
them,  nor  were  their  minds  sufficiently  strong  to 
grasp  conceptions  purely  rational.  Ernest  Kenan’s 
criticism  in  his  article  on  “Channing  and  the  Unitari- 

16 


242  BOSTON  UNIT  A  RIA  NISM. 

an  Movement  in  the  United  States,”  in  the  “  Etudes 
d’Histoire  Religieuse”  is  substantially  just,  though 
more  true  of  Unitarianism  than  of  Dr.  Channing. 
He  describes  it  as  “une  theologie  a  la  Franklin  sans 
grande  portee  metaphysique  ni  visee  transcenden- 
tale.”  “  On  ne  refait  pas  un  reve  par  un  acte  de  la 
volonte.”  He  compares  St.  Francis  d’ Assisi  with 
Channing,  and  while  admitting  the  intellectual  ab¬ 
surdity  of  the  old  religions,  contends  for  their  power 
over  the  imagination.  This,  Unitarianism,  however 
reasonable,  never  had,  neither  had  it  the  exaltation 
of  sentiment  which,  however  far  from  being  sensible, 
was  captivating  to  the  soul.  The  denial  of  the  most 
irrational  yet  most  fascinating  and  impressive  doc¬ 
trines — the  depravity  of  human  nature,  atonement, 
election,  substitution,  everlasting  punishment — was 
precisely  the  cause  of  its  rejection  by  the  mass  of  man¬ 
kind  ;  more  especially  as  no  equally  absorbing  ideas 
were  substituted  for  them.  This  gave  the  dry,  cold, 
barren,  negative  character  the  system  clearly  had  in 
the  popular  judgment.  It  was  in  vain  to  appeal  to 
texts  of  Scripture.  The  Bible  was  not  to  the  multi¬ 
tude  a  text,  but  the  whole  mind  of  Grod ;  a  mystery, 
to  be  interpreted  by  the  soul,  not  by  the  understand¬ 
ing.  The  creed,  also,  was  inspired  in  the  common 
apprehension,  and,  being  the  later  version  of  the 
divine  thought,  could  rightfully  explain  the  earlier 
revelation ;  so  that  nothing  was  gained  by  so-called 
clearness  or  simplicity  of  statement.  The  very  notion 
of  inspiration  implied  a  fulness  of  meaning  that  the 


THE  END. 


243 


human  intellect  could  not  measure ;  the  most  obscure 
hints  might  contain  the  deepest  intimations  of  super¬ 
human  intelligence ;  and  even  when  nothing  was 
spoken  to  the  outward  ear  the  inward  ear  might  be 
audibly  addressed.  This  was  a  weak  point  of  the 
Unitarianism  we  are  considering.  If  it  could  have 
discarded  entirely  the  belief  in  the  inspiration  of 
Scripture  and  planted  itself  squarely  upon  the  spirit¬ 
ual  laws  as  disclosed  to  the  soul,  as  Emerson  did,  its 
path  would  have  been  plain.  But  this  was  impos¬ 
sible;  half-way  measures  were  all  that  presented 
themselves,  and  these  did  not  cripple  its  march.  It 
appealed  to  nature  and  yet  accepted  the  super¬ 
natural.  It  denied  the  deity  of  Christ  and  still 
called  him  the  Son  of  God.  It  ascribed  moral 
attributes  to  persons,  but  termed  him  Saviour, 
Redeemer,  Mediator,  lavishing  on  him  every 
epithet  of  glory.  It  received  the  stories  of  the  resur¬ 
rection,  the  ascension,  the  raising  of  the  dead,  the 
multiplication  of  the  loaves,  miracles,  prophecies,  and 
yet  applied  reason  to  the  story  of  the  superhuman 
birth.  The  truth  is  that  it  did  not  carry  out  any  funda¬ 
mental  principles  of  doubt.  The  criticism  was  neither 
brave  nor  thorough.  In  theology  there  was  no  cri¬ 
terion  but  common-sense.  In  the  matter  of  the  Scrip¬ 
tures,  the  old  tradition  was  substantially  adhered  to. 
The  inspiration  of  the  Bible  was  taken  for  granted. 
Prophecy  was  trusted  in.  Superhuman  influence 
was  claimed,  and  although  a  spiritual  meaning  was 
inserted  when  the  letter  was  revolting  or  absurd,  the 


244 


BOSTON  UNIT  A  RI A  NISM. 


divine  mind  was  supposed  to  be  at  work.  The  con¬ 
clusions  of  Andrews  Norton,  an  accomplished  and 
elegant  scholar,  severe  after  his  way  in  his  strictures 
on  the  “  sacred  text,”  were  tacitly  received  as  final. 
He  was  the  great  authority,  as  bold,  fearless,  truth¬ 
ful  as  he  was  exact  and  careful.  What  he  discarded 
as  ungenuine  might  safely  be  thrown  aside ;  what  he 
admitted  as  part  of  the  original  writing  could  be 
safely  relied  on.  Most  of  these  Unitarians  pinned 
their  faith  unreservedly  to  him,  and  were  satisfied 
with  his  argument  for  the  genuineness  of  the  Gos¬ 
pels.  The  few  who  were  not,  fell  back  on  the  books 
themselves  as  being  of  providential  and  therefore  un¬ 
accountable  origin.  A  good  example  of  these  latter 
is  furnished  by  the  following  extract  from  a  letter  of 
my  father  to  Mr.  Norton  in  regard  to  his  demonstra¬ 
tion  of  the  authorship  of  the  four  Gospels. 

“  My  notion  of  the  matter  is  that  no  hypothesis 
explains  the  composition  and  mode  of  growth  of 
those  wonderful  books.  Remarkable  in  every  thing 
else,  they  are  remarkable  also  in  being  without  father 
or  mother,  as  Melchisedec  was  before  them.  Like 
the  Nile  to  the  ancients,  they  hid  their  source.  It 
does  appear  to  me  impossible,  on  the  face  of  the  rec¬ 
ord,  that  such  writings  should  be  independent  writ¬ 
ings,  and  I  can  come  to  no  theory  that  shall  explain 
to  me  how  they  arose.  Well,  then,  I  can  do  without 
any  theory,  and  acknowledge  my  ignorance.  .  .  . 

It  does  not  seem  to  me  that  the  supposition  of 
genuineness  accounts  for  the  phenomena ;  and  there- 


THE  END. 


245 


fore  your  theory  fails  to  satisfy  me,  as  much  as  the 
minute  inventions  of  the  ‘  common-document 7  men, 
nnd  the  ‘  copying-of-one-another  ’  men.  This  being 
my  view  of  the  subject,  you  see  what  a  wide  held 
of  skirmish  I  have  chosen  for  myself.  No  heavy¬ 
armed  soldier  or  close-combatant  am  I.” 

This  candid  evasion  of  the  difficulty  escapes  from 
the  point  of  the  sword,  but  leaves  the  way  open  to 
sentiment  and  to  any  amount  of  faith.  The  weeding 
out  of  the  tares  had  no  effect  in  impairing  the  sanc¬ 
tity  of  the  record.  The  approach  of  the  scalpel  was 
not  dreaded.  Thus,  whether  Mr.  Norton’s  hypothesis 
was  welcomed  or  not,  inspiration  was  preserved  ;  for 
Mr.  Norton,  too,  was  a  reverent  believer,  and  having, 
as  he  felt  sure,  clarified  the  Word,  he  gave  himself 
up  without  reserve  to  the  motives  of  a  tender  and 
trustful  heart.  Criticism,  in  his  hands,  was  any 
thing  but  cold.  Not  many  did  as  much  as  he  to 
promote  evangelical  feelings  among  his  fellow-believ¬ 
ers.  He  was  a  man  of  the  warmest  affections,  as 
was  shown  in  his  ardent  friendship  for  Charles  Eliot, 
and  in  his  childlike  piety.  This  union  of  loyalty 
to  the  truth  and  personal  devotion  explains  the 
serenity  of  faith  which  the  Unitarians  cherished. 
Criticism,  as  we  know  it,  had  not  reached  here  so 
early ;  in  fact  much  of  it  was  unborn.  Ewald’s 

History  of  Christ  and  His  Age  ”  was  not  published 
till  1857,  twenty  years  after  the  letter  to  Mr.  Norton, 
quoted  above,  was  written.  Kuenen  was  unheard 
of,  and  even  if  his  studies  had  been  familiar,  they 


246 


BOSTON  UNI TA RIA N ISM. 


would  have  been  remanded  to  the  category  of  theo¬ 
ries,  while  piety  would  have  continued  to  regard  the 
Bible  as  the  word  of  God.  Since  Ferdinand  Chris¬ 
tian  Baur  could  preach  in  a  Lutheran  pulpit  and  at 
the  same  time,  in  his  lecture-room,  teach  that  the 
Gospels  were  literary  pamphlets,  tendenz-schriften ,  it 
is  not  surprising  that  earlier  disciples  paid  no  heed 
to  a  criticism  which  was  far  less  destructive.  It  is 
the  evil  of  divorcing  knowledge  from  faith  that  jus¬ 
tice  is  done  to  neither.  Knowledge  is  discredited,  is 
consigned  to  a  subordinate,  not  to  say  an  insignificant 
position ;  and  faith  is  degraded  from  a  spiritual  prin¬ 
ciple  to  a  sentimental  feeling,  based  upon  tradition. 
Knowledge  was  simply  held  at  arm’s  length  instead 
of  being  invited  to  take  full  possession  -of  its  own 
department  and  extend  the  literary  laws  over  their 
whole  legitimate  domain.  Criticism,  it  is  true,  had 
not  gone  far  at  that  time,  but  it  had  gone  far  enough 
to  establish  its  method  and  to  show  the  distinction 
between  the  two  provinces  of  faith  and  reason. 

The  unconsciousness  of  any  radical  change  in  reli¬ 
gious  ideas  is  revealed  in  a  hymn  which  my  father 
wrote  for  me,  in  December,  1863.  It  was  not  sus¬ 
pected  that  the  authority  of  Scripture  would  be 
rejected,  that  the  story  of  Jesus  would  be  discred¬ 
ited,  that  the  Christ  of  the  Church  and  the  Creed 
would  be  repudiated,  that  the  Fatherhood  of  God 
would  be  called  in  question,  and  that  the  fundamen¬ 
tal  doctrines  of  theism  would  be  doubted,  by  religious 
men  too,  and  in  the  name  of  a  spiritual  faith.  This- 
hymn  was  one  of  the  last  he  wrote. 


THE  END. 


247 


ON  THE  DEDICATION  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  WORSHIP  OF  THE 
THIRD  UNITARIAN  SOCIETY,  NEW  YORK, 
DECEMBER  25,  1863. 


One  Father,  God,  we  own  ; 

One  Spirit  evermore  ; 

One  Christ,  with  manger,  cross,  and  throne. 

The  Light,  the  Way,  the  Door. 

In  souls  we  hail  his  birth  ; 

’T  is  now  he  comes  again  : 

His  kingdom  is  the  convert  earth, 

His  Church  all  faithful  men. 

The  Scriptures  thus  we  read  ;  ,t 

Of  strangest  powers  compiled, 

To  mould  the  heart,  and  clear  the  creed 
Of  earth’s  frail,  clouded  child. 

Its  essence,  not  its  writ, 

Our  sovereign  rule  we  call ; 

Not  fastening  down  all  truth  to  it, 

But  widening  it  to  all. 

With  this  free  reverence,  Lord, 

In  Christly  church  estate, 

With  earnest,  brotherly  accord, 

These  walls  we  dedicate, 

To  prayer  and  holy  thought  ; 

Affections  set  above  ; 

To  faiths  from  highest  fountains  brought, 

And  works  of  widest  love. 

Thy  presence,  Father,  make 
The  refuge  and  supply  ; 

And  for  thy  Truth  and  Mercy’s  sake 
Build  on,  and  sanctify. 

The  scientific  question  had  not  fairly  come  up. 
True,  the  utmost  liberality  towards  it  was  expressed, 
but  its  array  was  visible  only  very  far  off,  on  the 


248 


BOSTON  UNIT  A  RIA  NISM. 


outskirts  of  the  Old  Testament,  in  a  discussion  of  a 
problem  in  Genesis.  At  this  distance,  science  could 
hardly  awaken  alarm ;  nor  was  it  difficult  to  speak 
brave  words  in  an  article  on  “  Man  before  Adam.” 
But  how  would  the  doctrine  of  evolution  have  been 
met,  reversing  as  it  does  the  entire  order  of  creation, 
reconstructing  the  history  of  the  Bible,  and  making 
necessary  a  fresh  definition  of  Providence  ?  Spen¬ 
cer’s  doctrine  would  simply  have  been  classified  as 
one  of  the  guesses,  and  Darwin’s  theory  would  have 
been  unanswered.  The  least  touch  on  the  vitals  of 
religion,  as  it  was  then  considered,  would  have  been 
resented,  and  the  arms  would  still  have  clung  to  the 
Cross.  Few  even  yet  have  the  courage  to  follow  out 
the  implications  of  evolution  to  their  last  conse¬ 
quences.  Fifty  years  ago  nothing  threatened  the 
foundations  of  belief  or  laid  violent  hands  on  the 
outer  walls  of  revelation,  nor  was  it  surmised  that 
the  danger  might  come  nearer.  If  it  had  been,  the 
old  assumptions  would  have  been  retained,  and  the 
foe,  instead  of  being  faced  in  the  fight,  or  even 
fought  behind  battlements,  would  have  been  scorn¬ 
fully  waived  off  as  not  fit  to  encounter  the  hosts 
of  the  revealed  God.  Half  a  century  ago  the  pre¬ 
possessions  covered  a  great  deal  of  ground.  Now 
the  ground  is  disputed  inch  by  inch,  but  it  is  dis¬ 
puted.  Then  it  was  not  so  much  as  disputed,  for 
the  adversary  was  never  confronted.  Joseph  Priest¬ 
ley,  whose  fame  as  a  scientific  man  extended  over 
Europe,  and  who  suffered  for  heresy,  held  to  biblical 


THE  END. 


249 


infallibility  as  long  as  lie  lived,  his  island  being 
guaranteed  against  the  most  formidable  seas.  Theo¬ 
dore  Parker  defended,  and  must  have  defended  to 
the  last,  his  view  of  theism ;  and  James  Marti neau 
contends  passionately  against  the  materialists.  The 
Boston  Unitarians  followed  in  the  footsteps  of 
Priestley.  The  scientific  spirit  is  of  recent  origin. 
It  certainly  does  not  ask  that  any  genuine  conviction 
shall  be  surrendered,  for  it  wants  a  struggle  in 
order  that  its  own  beliefs  may  be  certified ;  but  it 
does  require  that  whatever  convictions  are  enter¬ 
tained  shall  be  held  in  accordance  with  the  method 
of  science.  It  will  have  no  arbitrary  reserves,  no 
unassailable  positions.  But  no  such  refuge  as  ag¬ 
nosticism,  no  cloudy  screen,  was  necessary  in  the  last 
generation.  Faith  asked  no  apology.  The  tradition 
was  secure,  so  that  ignorance  was  justified  in  assert¬ 
ing  the  tradition.  I  was  present  at  the  Berry  Street 
Conference  when  Theodore  Parker  flung  into  the 
teeth  of  a  doctor  of  divinity  the  miracle  of  the 
loaves,  and  when  the  latter  declined  being  cate¬ 
chised,  on  the  ground  of  ill-health  !  And,  on  an¬ 
other  occasion,  Mr.  Parker  asked  a  prominent  divine 
if  Jesus  exhausted  the  infinite.  “  Pretty  much,”  was 
the  reply. 

That  Unitarianism  should  have  no  science  is  then 
not  surprising.  That  it  should  have  no  decisive 
philosophy,  is ;  for  the  system  was  founded  upon 
a  philosophy,  such  as  it  was.  Transcendentalism 
had  a  bad  name,  as  being  associated  with  German 


250 


BOSTON  UNIT  A  RIA  NTSM. 


thought,  destructive  criticism,  unbelief,  radicalism 
of  all  sorts,  and  as  rendering  useless  the  reliance  on 
miracle,  prophecy,  and  external  revelation  ; — though 
the  belief  in  man’s  spiritual  nature  involved  its  car¬ 
dinal  axioms.  Sensationalism  was  repudiated,  be¬ 
cause  it  seemed  to  limit  mind  and  conscience,  though 
it  legitimated  its  favorite  credences.  As  a  rule,  the 
Unitarians  were  “  sensationalists,”  so  far  as  they 
were  any  thing,  though  this  was  held  in  too  crude  a 
form  to  satisfy  all,  so  nothing  was  professed.  To 
illustrate  :  when  I  was  in  my  first  pastorate,  I  be¬ 
came  a  transcendentalist,  and  as  such  made  light  of 
the  outward  props  on  which  the  people  had  been 
taught  to  depend.  We  fell  into  collision  therefore, 
almost  without  knowing  why.  In  one  of  my  fre¬ 
quent  notes  to  my  father  I  expressed  my  discontent 
and  put  my  finger  on  the  cause, — my  transcenden¬ 
talism  and  their  sensationalism.  My  father  evidently 
did  not  appreciate  the  antagonism  of  the  two  sys¬ 
tems.  Why  trouble  yourself,  he  said,  about  such  a 
distinction  %  They  know  nothing  of  it,  and  you 
need  say  nothing.  Go  on  as  if  it  did  not  exist,  and 
confine  yourself  to  undisputed  points.  As  if  there 
were  any !  Channing — though  his  faith  had  not 
worked  itself  clear,  and  he  still  had  hanging  round 
his  mind  the  rags  of  the  old  theology — had  never¬ 
theless  a  positive  intellectual  faith;  a  faith  in  the 
immanence  of  God  in  man.  Theodore  Parker  dis¬ 
tinctly  abandoned  the  sensational  philosophy, 
preached  the  sonship  of  the  soul,  and  allowed  free 


THE  END. 


251 


course  to  biblical  criticism,  discrediting  every  prin¬ 
ciple  that  appealed  to  external  authority.  His 
transcendentalism  it  was,  in  fact,  that  made  him 
so  willing  to  accept  the  results  of  “  German  ration¬ 
alism.”  But  convictions  such  as  his  led  at  once 
to  social  radicalism,  the  bugbear  of  Unitarianism. 
Channing  took  an  interest  in  temperance,  in  prison 
reform,  in  education,  in  the  future  of  the  working 
man,  in  the  slave;  attended  the  Chardon  Street 
Conference,  encouraged  experiments  like  that  of 
Brook  Farm,  cautiously  but  deeply,  meditated  funda¬ 
mental  social  changes.  Parker  was  an  earnest  re¬ 
former  in  many  directions.  So  was  Emerson. 
Ripley,  a  purely  intellectual  man,  called  himself 
by  every  name  that  was  offensive  to  polite  ears. 
There  was  not  a  transcendentalist  who  was  not,  in 
some  measure,  an  anti-slavery  man,  and  thus  a  re¬ 
proach.  The  Unitarians  were  conservative,  believers 
in  providential  arrangements  of  society,  believers  in 
respectability,  in  class  distinctions.  They  did  not, 
by  any  means,  want  to  keep  things  as  they  were,  but 
they  did  not  want  any  sudden  overturning,  or  any 
overturning  at  all.  Their  faith  was  in  slow  and 
gradual  uplifting,  through  the  diffusion  of  charity 
and  the  spread  of  truth.  Their  philosophy  lent 
itself  most  readily  to  this ;  therefore  they  were 
sensationalists,  rather  from  social  feeling  than  from 
metaphysical  thinking.  I  am  afraid,  too,  they 
avoided  close  analysis  of  ideas,  as  committing  them 
to  a  theory  the  results  of  which  might  cramp  the 


252 


BOSTON  UNI TA RIA N ISM. 


movement  of  their  minds,  or  compromise  their  posi¬ 
tion  in  the  community.  They,  more  naturally,  clung 
to  tradition,  and  stood  where  the  divine  will  had 
placed  them.  As  Puritans,  they  believed  in  the 
unadulterated  influence  of  the  Christian  religion,  in 
the  Scriptures,  in  the  Christ,  in  the  sacraments  of 
the  Church.  The  theological  account  of  all  this 
was  partially  discarded ;  some  of  it  was  absolutely 
repudiated — all  that  offended  the  moral  sense ;  some 
was  merely  attenuated — the  doctrine  of  inspiration, 
for  instance,  the  rank  of  Jesus,  the  virtue  of  the 
bread  and  wine  of  the  supper.  With  purely  philo¬ 
sophical  problems  they  did  not  much  concern 
themselves.  This  was  a  matter  of  speculation,  not 
of  practice,  and  their  business  was  to  edify ;  and  if 
any  were  interested  in  such  curious  speculations  as 
those  respecting  the  origin  of  ideas,  they  might 
follow  them  up,  as  scholars,  in  the  study.  These 
things  must  always  remain  in  dispute ;  meanwhile 
moral  impressions  were  certain,  and  it  was  a  great 
deal  wiser  to  hold  by  what  was  approved. 

In  spite  of  their  want  of  science ;  in  spite  of  their 
indifference  to  philosophy ;  in  spite  of  the  vagueness 
of  their  theological  opinions,  these  men  were  real 
friends  of  intellectual  freedom,  genuine  promoters  of 
mental  independence.  The  hazy  character  of  their 
theology,  the  aesthetic  rather  than  dogmatic  tone  of 
their  creed,  aided  this  tendency  by  leaving  their 
minds  at  liberty  to  cultivate  literature.  The  insen¬ 
sibly  secular  cast  of  their  thought  opened  the  world 


THE  END. 


253 


of  poetry  and  domesticated  tlie  best  classics  among 
them.  Unconsciously  they  were  Greek  and  not 
Asiatic,  Western,  not  Oriental  in  their  culture. 
Their  libraries  were  miscellaneous,  not  so  much  theo¬ 
logical  as  literary  in  the  human  sense.  The  world’s 
books  were  on  the  shelves,  the  masterpieces  of  Athe¬ 
nian,  Roman,  English,  French,  German  wisdom ; 
poetic,  dramatic,  epic,  heroic.  Unitarianism  has 
always  been  accompanied  by  this  love  of  gentile  lore. 
Said  a  lady  to  Edward  Everett  Hale  : 

A  Unitarian  church  to  you  merely  means  one  more  name 
on  your  calendar.  To  the  people  in  this  town  it  means  better 
books,  better  music,  better  sewerage,  better  health,  better  life, 
less  drunkenness,  more  purity,  and  better  government. 

“  Well,”  said  the  Boston  Herald ,  “  this  is  the  whole 
issue  in  a  nutshell.”  This  implied  a  free  range  of 
intelligence,  confidence  in  the  rational  uses  of  mind, 
a  broad  conception  of  truth,  emancipation  from  doc¬ 
trinal  trammels.  While  such  productions  were  not 
received  as,  in  any  way,  a  substitute  for  Holy  Scrip¬ 
ture,  or  even  as  a  rival  to  the  word  of  revelation,  it 
was  a  good  deal  to  countenance  them,  and  give  them 
a  place  in  human  culture.  Puritanism  began  this 
encouragement  of  intellect  when  it  founded  Harvard 
College ;  and  though  it  supposed  that  the  effect 
would  be  evangelical,  still  it  opened  the  door  wide 
to  the  spirit  of  undogmatic  liberty,  and  led  directly 
to  the  idea  of  ethnic  scriptures  which  distinguished 
the  Dial.  I  remember  reading  in  my  youth,  to  my 
father’s  entire  satisfaction,  the  works  of  JEschylus 


254 


BOSTON  UNITARIAN  ISM. 


and  Plato,  nor  was  the  least  suggestion  made  that 
something  else  might  be  more  edifying.  The  notion 
of  culture  was  already  supplanting  that  of  conver¬ 
sion,  and  width  of  view  was  coming  to  take  the 
place  of  “the  one  thing  needful.”  No  objection 
was  made  to  our  reading  novels  on  Sunday.  Such 
books  were,  of  course,  regarded  as  recreations  merely, 
and  were  never  supposed  to  nourish  the  “  soul,”  but 
it  was  something  to  allow  that  they  could  do  so 
much,  and  were  not  wholly  abominable.  The  bar¬ 
rier  between  “  sacred  ”  and  “  profane  ”  compositions 
existed,  but  it  was  not  so  high  that  it  could  not  be 
jumped  over.  Soon  it  was  to  be  removed  entirely. 
In  the  meantime  Unitarianism  was  preparing  the  way 
for  this  final  consummation.  Unless  my  memory 
deceives  me,  the  beginnings  of  a  decided  intellectual 
deliverance  from  the  bondage  of  tradition  can  be 
traced  back  to  my  boyhood.  I  say  the  beginnings ; 
the  full  development  came  later.  When  reason  was 
first  liberated,  none  but  its  enemies  foresaw  its 
ultimate  triumph.  The  sole  effectual  method  of 
dealing  with  it  was  to  put  it  under  the  ban,  with  all 
its  works,  and  keep  it  firmly  under  lock  and  key, 
with  a  perpetual  guard  to  stop  its  escape.  As  soon 
as  Protestantism,  in  the  innocence  of  its  heart  set  it 
free,  with  its  wonted  proclivity  to  take  an  ell  where 
an  inch  was  granted,  it  put  forth  its  claims.  The 
struggle  against  creed  and  Church  was  long  and 
desperate,  as  both  had  power,  wealth,  and  prescrip¬ 
tion  on  their  side  ;  until  now  the  fury  of  the  battle, 


THE  END . 


255 


at  least  with,  thinking  people,  is  about  over.  The 
calmness  of  assured  triumph  is  not  attained  except  by 
the  few,  w'hose  weapons  of  war  are  in  their  sheaths ; 
to  the  multitude,  reason  is  still  an  enemy  whose  at¬ 
tacks  are  to  be  feared,  but  who  is  certain  to  be  con¬ 
quered  at  last.  During  the  long  course  of  its  effort  to 
gain  headway  against  ecclesiasticism  and  dogmatism, 
reason  contracted  an  aggressive,  self-asserting,  defiant 
character  that  ages  only  will  overcome.  Hitherto  it 
has  been  destructive,  but  it  will  not  be  so  always. 
By  and  by  it  will  be  constructive,  and  will  work  to 
establish  belief  on  rational  grounds.  This  is  all  it 
asks  for, — an  opportunity  to  display  its  full  power 
as  an  organizing  faculty,  a  force  of  thought  taking 
the  place  of  tradition.  What  surprises  us  in  the  old 
Unitarianism  is  the  sweetness  of  its  quality,  its  geni¬ 
ality,  its  hospitable,  buoyant  spirit.  Several  causes 
aided  this :  its  undogmatic  attitude ;  its  freedom 
from  contention  ;  its  indifference  to  sectarian  distinc¬ 
tions  ;  its  unconsciousness  of  any  break  or  absolute 
departure  from  the  ancient  credence,  which  it  modi¬ 
fied  but  did  not  abolish  ;  its  quiet  assurance  of  faith ; 
its  abstention  from  social  polemics,  sure  to  run  at 
last  into  the  bitterness  of  opposition ;  its  undisturbed 
possession  of  the  literary  field  in  its  most  innocent 
aspect  of  classical  prose  and  poetry  ;  its  confinement 
to  the  realm  of  taste  for  beauty  in  style,  and  the 
presentation  of  good  thoughts  in  lofty  and  pure 
form ;  its  preference  of  sentiment  to  ratiocination. 
Channing’s  sweetness  was  in  a  great  measure  due,  I 


256 


BOSTON  UNITARIANISM. 


always  thought,  to  the  invalidism  that  kept  him 
secluded  from  popular  strife  ;  Parker’s  to  his  natural 
disposition,  inherited  from  his  mother,  and  fortified 
by  training.  But  the  sweetness  of  the  regular  Uni¬ 
tarians  belonged  to  their  neutral  position  as  a  con¬ 
servative  body  of  men  who  took  no  part  in  any 
disputes,  whether  doctrinal  or  social,  who  believed 
dutifully,  and  who  studied  faithfully  as  their  incli¬ 
nation  prompted.  It  must  not  be  inferred  that 
there  wras  no  religiousness  among  the  Unitarians. 
There  was  a  good  deal.  It  was  not  characteristic  of 
the  body.  In  many  cases  it  was  a  sentiment  rather 
than  a  principle,  a  prompting  of  duty  rather  than  an 
impulse  of  feeling.  It  is  difficult  to  combine  spirit¬ 
uality  with  the  critical  understanding.  But  the  little 
book,  by  Henry  Ware,  Jr.,  on  the  “  Formation  of  the 
Christian  Character,”  was  to  the  Unitarians  what 
Thomas  k  Kempis’  “  Imitatio  ”  was  to  the  Catholics, 
or  Law’s  “  Serious  Call  ”  was  to  the  Orthodox  Prot¬ 
estants. 

A  very  admirable  trait  in  Unitarianism  was  its 
reverence  for  personal  character.  It  wras  balanced, 
even,  moderate.  Its  friends  were  not  ascetic  in  any 
sense  or  in  any  degree.  They  lived  as  generously 
as  was  comely,  after  the  manner  of  their  time,  which 
was  plain,  simple,  undemonstrative,  restrained.  They 
were  not  vegetarians,  they  were  not  total  abstainers, 
they  did  not  wear  hair  shirts,  or  live  in  hovels,  or 
severely  mortify  the  flesh.  But  they  were  never 
excessive  in  their  use  of  the  good  things  of  this. 


THE  END. 


25  7 


world.  They  were  temperate  in  all  things ,  ever 
keeping  conscience  and  good-sense  uppermost,  lead¬ 
ing  a  reasonable,  sober,  dignified  existence,  all  the 
higher  in  tone  for  the  modest  indulgences  they  per¬ 
mitted  to  themselves,  but  kept  in  check. 

On  the  restoration  of  the  Federal  Street  theatre  to 
its  originally  destined  use  in  1846,  my  father  wrote 
some  lines,  which  were  printed  but  not  offered  for 
recitation  or  prize,  probably  because  such  perform¬ 
ance  was  thought  to  be  inconsistent  with  the  clerical 
profession.  But  a  delight  in  the  theatrical  art  be¬ 
longed  to  him,  and  he  never  visited  New  York  with¬ 
out  going  to  see  William  Burton,  and  getting  the 
creases  of  professional  care  taken  out  of  him  by  that 
laughter-provoking  comedian. 

Not  the  ministers  only,  but  the  laity  had  this  vir¬ 
tuous,  grave,  healthy  moral  character,  genial,  but 
upright,  honest,  and  chaste.  A  singular  purity 
marked  all  their  behavior.  Integrity  was  their  dis¬ 
tinction  from  highest  to  lowest.  Their  enemies 
admitted  as  much  when  they  reproached  them  for 
being  simply  moral  men  ;  as  if  character  was  not  the 
consummate  flower  of  faith ;  as  if  goodness  such  as 
theirs  would  not  sweeten  the  world  ;  as  if  a  practical 
allegiance  to  the  cardinal  ideas  of  religion — God, 
immortality,  the  divine  origin  of  truth — was  a  sign  of 
decay  and  not  of  growth  ;  as  if  the  decline  of  theo¬ 
logical  animosity  was  not  an  absolute  gain,  and  the 
postponement  of  creed  to  conduct  was  not  a  thing  to 

be  welcome  !  Indeed,  the  best  that  can  be  said  of 
17 


258 


BOSTON  UNIT  A  RIA  NISM. 


this  much-abused  Unitarianism  is  this  respect  for 
worth.  If  any  fault  may  be  found  with  it,  it  must 
be  on  the  score  of  its  rigidity.  It  was  a  little  too 
unbending  in  its  judgments,  a  little  too  abrupt. 
There  was  some  want  of  shading.  If  conduct  was 
not  right  it  was  wrong.  White  existed,  black  ex¬ 
isted  ;  but  gray  did  not  exist.  Yet,  in  these  days  of 
allowance,  of  charity,  of  all-sidedness,  of  studied 
fairness,  such  ethical  dogmatism  is  somewhat  refresh¬ 
ing.  True,  it  betrayed  a  lack  of  color,  but  this  is 
cancelled  by  the  single-minded  integrity  that  walked 
straight  and  clean  through  the  crooked  and  dirty 
places  of  life.  This  uprightness  might,  in  part,  have 
been  due  to  a  certain  narrowness  of  perception  im¬ 
posed  by  social  usages,  that  were  not  elastic  as  they 
are  now ;  but  even  this  may  be  pardoned  on  account 
of  the  virtue  which  is  so  precious.  Breadth  is  an 
excellent  quality,  but  it  is  dearly  purchased  at  the 
expense  of  sturdiness  of  will.  It  must  be  a  high 
type  of  humanity  that  can  keep  pace  with  the  ut¬ 
most  liberalism,  matching  its  mental  largeness  with 
a  corresponding  moral  courage.  Boston  was  a  little 
city ;  everybody  was  known ;  everybody  had  a  repu¬ 
tation  to  maintain  ;  the  stays  of  society  were  against 
all  walls  to  shore  them  up.  Now  the  town  is  much 
larger  and  more  under  mercantile  influences  ;  and  it 
is  mainly  by  falling  back  on  old  reliances  that  the 
ancient  standard  of  character  can  be  preserved.  One 
is  somehow  obliged  to  contract  his  world  if  he  would 
prop  up  his  morale,  and  the  Unitarians  were  fortu- 


THE  END . 


259 


nate  in  being  able  to  live  in  their  little  universe  and 
yet  maintain  their  souls  alive.  Modern  Unitarian- 
ism  is  a  very  different  system,  more  social,  more 
ethical,  more  reformatory,  more  scientific,  more  demo¬ 
cratic,  more  willing  to  accept  the  results  of  radical 
criticism,  more  rationalistic,  more  philosophical,  but  its 
firmness  of  texture  is  largely  owing  to  the  training  it 
derived  from  its  ancestors,  and  the  noble  examples  of 
the  fathers  who  preceded  them  in  establishing  the 
supremacy  of  the  attributes  on  which  society  reposes. 
However  broad  the  faith  may  be,  however  indiffer¬ 
ent  to  theological  definitions,  however  elastic  in  sym¬ 
pathy,  however  enthusiastic  for  progress,  it  will 
always  be  mindful  of  its  origin ;  it  will  always  be 
grateful  to  its  creators  ;  it  will  always  set  character 
before  credence  ;  and,  being  confident  of  its  princi¬ 
ples,  will  allow  free  movement  to  the  mind. 

In  this  brief  sketch  description  has  been  purposely 
avoided  of  several  important  men,  who  were  either 
well  enough  known  already  from  being  written 
about,  or  who  have  made  a  single  impression,  or  who 
have  been  distinguished  in  other  fields, — men  like 
Charles  Lowell,  John  Thornton  Kirkland,  Joseph 
McKean,  Thaddeus  Mason  Harris,  John  Pierce,  Jos. 
Allen,  Thomas  Gray,  the  Wares — Henry,  Henry  Jr., 
William, — Samuel  Gilman,  Wm.  H.  Furness,  Alvan 
Lamson,  Ephraim  Peabody,  James  Walker,  John  G. 
Palfrey,  Edward  B.  Hall,  George  Putnam,  Francis 
W.  P.  Greenwood,  Ezra  Stiles  Gannett,  Robert  C. 
Waterston,  Frederick  H.  Hedge,  R.  W.  Emerson, 


26o 


BOSTON  UN  IT  A  RIA  NISM. 


John  H.  Morison,  Henry  W.  Bellows,  Cyrus  A. 
Bartol,  George  E.  Ellis,  William  Newell,  William  B. 
0.  Peabody,  Oliver  W.  B.  Peabody,  Andrew  P.  Pea¬ 
body,  Andrews  Norton.  These  were  all  remarkable 
men,  many  of  them  very  remarkable,  in  different 
w^ays,  as  preachers,  theologians,  philosophers,  writers, 
ministers,  critics,  philanthropists,  poets, — men  of 
unusually  large  cultivation,  even  of  saintly  disposi¬ 
tion  ;  men  of  decided  individuality ;  men,  oftentimes, 
of  genius,  brilliant,  profound;  men  of  mind  and  of 
soul.  On  reading  their  works  two  things  have 
struck  me :  first,  their  moderation  of  view,  their 
freedom  from  partisanship,  their  reluctance  to  com¬ 
mit  themselves  to  systems  of  thought,  their  devotion 
to  the  practical  aspects  of  opinion.  They  kept  their 
critical  and  philosophical  speculations,  so  long  as 
they  were  mere  speculations — useless  for  edification, 
— to  themselves  or  the  seclusion  of  the  study  ;  saying 
nothing  about  them  in  public,  exercising,  in  fact,  a 
continence  that  was  misunderstood,  being  construed 
as  timidity  or  hypocrisy,  when,  in  truth,  it  was  merely 
a  persuasion  on  their  part  that  surmises  of  this  kind 
were  unfruitful  in  their  influence  on  the  religious 
life.  This  was  the  one  interest  to  be  regarded  by 
the  clergyman,  and  was  to  be  watched  over  strictly. 
Questions  of  theology  were  of  small  moment  when 
the  spiritual  welfare  was  concerned.  They  confined 
themselves,  therefore,  to  the  work  of  increasing  the 
sum  of  moral  sentiment.  In  the  second  place,  I 
have  been  impressed  with  the  prominence  given  to 


THE  END . 


261 


the  literary  as  opposed  to  the  controversial  temper. 
Most  of  these  men  preferred  to  write  essays,  narra¬ 
tives,  poems,  biographies ;  to  pursue  studies  in  his¬ 
tory,  science,  botany  ;  to  read  Goethe,  Schiller, 
Moliere,  Shakespeare ;  to  cultivate  art,  music,  the 
drama.  An  atmosphere  of  elegant  taste  pervades 
the  denomination.  Even  when  occasion  calls  for 
polemics  the  argument  is  usually  conducted  after  the 
manner  of  one  more  interested  in  the  style  than  in  the 
dogmas  under  discussion,  and  who  would  be  gladly 
let  off  from  the  duty  of  debate.  In  A.  P.  Putnam’s 
volume,  “  Singers  and  Songs  of  the  Liberal  Faith,” 
there  are  more  than  seventy  names,  and  these  are 
but  a  portion  of  the  versifiers.  The  larger  number 
are  clergymen,  but  there  are  upwards  of  a  score  of 
laymen  and  more  than  a  dozen  women.  It  is  true 
that  the  wealth  of  our  poetry  is  not  much  increased 
by  this  contribution,  but  it  indicates  the  bent  of  the 
denomination,  and  it  shows  how,  in  this  estimation, 
all  the  religious  sentiments  naturally  ran  to  music. 

There  has  been,  in  all  ages,  an  indifference  to 
theology,  as  the  theory,  the  doctrinal  account  of 
religion.  The  Catholic  mystics  felt  it ;  the  Protes¬ 
tant  mystics  felt  it ;  the  devout,  the  spiritually 
minded,  the  seraphic  of  every  communion,  Quakers, 
Unitarians,  disciples  of  the  inner  light,  have  felt  it. 
But  this  kind  of  indifference  was  occasional,  not 
general,  not  native  to  the  sect.  There  was  no  system¬ 
atic  repudiation  of  the  validity  of  a  doctrinal  scheme. 
The  belief  was  accepted  and  was  merely  abandoned 


262 


BOSTON  UNIT  A  R/A  NISM. 


in  times  of  exaltation.  The  Unitarians  were  the 
first,  so  far  as  I  know,  who  deliberately  substituted 
a  rational  idealism  for  the  creed ;  who  adopted  art, 
humanity,  literature  as  expressions  of  the  divine 
mind ;  who  set  up  social  morality  as  a  means  of 
grace.  Spirituality  was  not  conspicuous  among 
them,  in  the  usual  acceptation  of  the  term.  Even 
Emerson,  their  chief  idealist,  beamed  with  a  mild 
radiance,  spoke  wisely  of  the  spiritual  laws,  and  was 
supremely  interested  in  ethical  principles.  There 
were  theologians  among  them ;  there  were  disputants  ; 
but  as  an  order  there  was  very  little  concern  with 
doctrinal  distinction.  They  were  scholars,  pastors, 
readers  of  books.  Secular  culture  came  up  in  their 
generation.  Dogmatism  received  its  death-blow. 
The  creed  was  forgotten.  The  subsequent  detach¬ 
ment  from  the  theological  method  in  favor  of  the 
scientific,  which  has  been  gaining  ground  during  the 
last  thirty  years  and  has  reached  its  culmination 
now,  is,  in  my  judgment,  largely  due  to  the  example 
of  these  men. 

Nor  is  it  surprising  that  they  kept  theology, 
though  in  the  background,  and  were  ready  to  fall 
back  on  it  whenever  they  felt  called  to  bring  forward 
the  reasons  for  their  faith.  The  era  of  a  purely 
spiritual  belief  had  not  fairly  come.  It  was  a  soli¬ 
tary,  personal  thing,  peculiar  to  a  few  men,  who 
stood  by  themselves.  Most  wanted  a  tradition,  a 
system  that  had  roots,  that  was  held  by  generations 
of  men,  that  had  its  saints  and  martyrs,  that  could 


THE  END. 


263 


appeal  to  its  sanctities,  could  bring  learning  and 
attested  piety  to  its  support,  and  was  recommended 
by  experience.  Though  in  details  it  may  have  been 
modified,  some  parts  being  dropped  and  others 
altered,  the  substance  of  it  remained  the  same,  and 
they  knew  no  other  guarantee.  That  of  the  soul 
they  could  not  comprehend,  for  the  soul  shared  the 
infirmity  of  human  nature,  which,  in  their  opinion, 
needed  regeneration.  The  idea  of  an  incorruptible 
humanity  was  still  far  from  them,  and  they  clung  to 
some  external  revelation  which  was  susceptible  of 
demonstration.  They  entertained  no  oracles  except 
the  u  oracles  of  God.”  They  did  not  think  it  necessary 
to  call  attention  to  their  tenets  any  more  than  to 
their  cellars,  which  nevertheless  existed,  as  all  men 
were  aware,  and  could  be  shown  on  occasion.  Gen¬ 
erally  they  might  be  taken  on  trust.  A  stranger 
taking  up  his  residence  in  the  city,  and  asking  about 
Unitarian  churches,  was  recommended  to  go  to  Dr. 
Frothingham’s,  for  there  he  would  hear  less  about 
“  Christ  ”  than  elsewhere.  This  was  not  because 
Dr.  Frothingham  believed  so  little,  but  because  he 
believed  so  much.  He  had  no  faith  “  to  speak  of  ”  ; 
it  could  bear  silence. 

Neither  had  the  gospel  of  individualism  become 
familiar,  as  it  has  been  for  the  last  forty  years. 
During  the  transcendental  period,  individualism  was 
preached  as  a  duty,  a  sacred  obligation  imposed  by 
the  spiritual  laws.  Before  this  period  was  fully 
inaugurated  and  had  settled  down  into  systematic 


264 


BOSTON  UNIT  A  RIA  N ISM. 


ways,  it  meant  simply  confusion  and  was  repelled  by 
lovers  of  order.  When  it  had  passed,  individualism 
gave  place  to  a  reign  of  law  which  became  a  substi¬ 
tute  for  tradition,  and  authority  was  transferred 
i  from  Scripture  to  philosophy,  the  new  word  of  the 
Highest.  The  philosophy  of  Channing  had  dis¬ 
appeared.  The  philosophy  of  Parker  would  not 
bear  analysis.  The  old  theology  would  submit  to 
no  further  attenuation.  Transcendentalism  had  gone. 
Sentimentalism  was  out  of  date.  A  new  gospel  for 
Liberalism, — faith  founded  on  knowledge  and  sus¬ 
tained  by  inquiry, — must  be  the  spiritual  religion  of 
the  future. 

But  this  is  not  a  development  from  Unitarianism, 
properly  so-called ;  still  less  is  it  a  continuance  of 
Channing  or  Parker.  For  though  the  former  always 
remained  within  the  limits  of  the  recognized  faith, 
and  first  awakened  the  Unitarian  controversy,  and  is 
regarded  as  the  father  of  the  sect,  still  he  would 
never  assume  a  party  name,  evidently  feeling  that 
he  did  not  belong  to  a  denomination,  and  he  intro¬ 
duced  a  principle  which,  fairly  carried  out,  as  it  was 
by  Emerson,  Ripley,  Alcott,  and  the  Transcenden- 
talists  generally — I  allude  to  his  doctrine  of  the 
essential  worth  of  human  nature — was  irreconcil¬ 
able  with  any  form  of  evangelical  belief,  founded, 
as  this  was,  upon  the  need  of  supernatural  redemp¬ 
tion  by  a  disordered  race ;  while  the  latter,  though 
claiming  to  be  a  consistent  Unitarian,  substituted  a 
new  basis  for  religion  which  not  merely  dismissed 


THE  END. 


265 


the  dogma  of  depravity,  but  rendered  unnecessary  a 
revelation  or  a  saviour.  The  erection  of  another 
tribunal — the  soul — made  Scripture  superfluous  and 
dethroned  Jesus. 

It  is  true  that  Unitarianism  was  somewhat  con¬ 
fused  by  the  admixture  of  incongruous  elements, 
beside  the  unavoidable  imperfection  of  its  exegesis. 
George  Ripley  reckoned  my  father  among  the  early 
Transcendentalists,  a  classification  in  which  the  good 
man  would  not  have  taken  supreme  delight.  James 
Walker  and  William  P.  Lunt  used  the  intuitive  phi¬ 
losophy,  the  one  to  legitimate  faith,  the  other  to  fur¬ 
nish  a  ground  for  the  religious  emotions ;  but  the 
main  drift  was  certainly  in  the  opposite  direction. 
There  was  a  vehement  protest  against  such  doctrines 
of  Calvinism  as  an  endless  hell,  the  damnation  of 
infants,  the  perdition  of  the  heathen,  but  this  was 
simply  the  outcry  of  the  natural  heart  and  conscience 
which  had  by  this  time  emancipated  themselves  from 
dogma,  and  were  not  afraid  to  assert  the  claims  of 
pity,  mercy,  kindness,  common  humanity.  No  phil¬ 
osophical  ideas  were  involved  in  this  assertion. 
The  moral  indignation  at  the  horror  of  war  or  the 
enormities  of  slavery  was  simply  human.  It  would 
have  been  strange  indeed  if  cultivated  men  in  the 
nineteenth  century  had  been  indifferent  to  evils 
that  were  thrust  upon  their  notice.  The  won¬ 
der  is  that  they  were  so  much  so  as  they  were ;  they 
would  have  been  far  more  outraged,  if  a  deep- 
seated  principle  had  impelled  them. 


266 


BOSTON  UNITARIANISM. 


The  Unitarians  appealed  to  the  Bible,  and  went  no 
further.  They  were  shut  up  in  its  enclosure,  and 
will  always  be.  They  identified  religion  with  Chris¬ 
tianity  and  Christianity  wfith  the  Scriptures.  Efforts 
will  continue  to  be  made  to  bring  the  New  Testa¬ 
ment  into  line  with  the  latest  spiritual  experiences, 
but  the  ancient  tradition  will  not,  in  their  case,  be 
transcended. 

The  new  Unitarianism,  as  it  is  termed,  is  neither 
sentimental  nor  transcendental  nor  traditional.  It  is 
rather  historical  and  experimental.  It  does  not  grow 
out  of  the  old.  It  oversteps  the  boundary  of  Scripture 
and  even  of  Christianity,  and  is  a  form  of  theism ; 
theism  generously  interpreted  in  accordance  with 
knowledge,  thought,  science,  spirituality.  It  is  a 
religion  of  aspiration,  poetic  feeling,  imagination, 
prescience.  Its  doctrine  about  God  is  rational,  sci¬ 
entific,  human,  answering  the  needs  of  the  highest 
ideality.  Its  immortality  is  a  hope,  a  trust,  a  conso¬ 
lation  for  sorrow,  an  incitement  to  endeavor,  a  faith 
of  the  human  race,  the  last  term  of  evolution,  an  in¬ 
ference  from  a  spiritual  nature  in  man,  a  necessary 
complement  to  destiny,  an  anticipation  of  future 
blessedness,  a  promise  of  full  fruition, — never  a  tra¬ 
ditionary  belief.  It  conceives  of  moral  law  as  an 
element  inwrought  into  the  nature  of  things,  or  a 
product  of  the  best  experience,  or  the  feeling  of 
exalted  souls,  or  an  attribute  of  the  normal  conscience 
— never  as  an  echo  from  Sinai  or  a  breath  from  the 
mountain  of  the  Beatitudes.  In  a  word,  it  is  an  ele- 


THE  END. 


267 


vated  kind  of  religious  faith,  simple  and  devout.  It 
calls  itself  Unitarian  simply  because  that  name  sug¬ 
gests  mental  freedom,  and  breadth,  and  progress,  and 
elasticity,  and  joy.  Another  name  might  do  as  well, 
perhaps  be  more  accurately  descriptive.  But  no 
other  would  be  as  impressive,  or,  on  the  whole,  so 
honorable. 


INDEX. 


A 

Abolitionists,  194,  197-199 
Adams,  Charles  Francis,  94 
Adams,  Henry,  195,  196 
Alcott,  Bronson,  264 
Allen,  J.  H.,  210,  212 
Allston,  Washington,  6 
Alps,  the,  147 
Ancestry,  15 
Anthology  Club,  19,  206 
Antinomian  Controversy,  30 
Arnold,  M.,  quoted,  91 
Asceticism  among  the  Unitarians, 
256,  257 

Ashburton,  Lord,  122 
Association,  American  Unitarian,  64 
Association,  Boston,  of  Congrega¬ 
tional  ministers,  33,  184,  213 
Athenaeum,  19 

B 

Bacon,  Francis,  176 

Bancroft,  George,  139,  140,  160 

Barnard,  Charles,  65 

Barrett,  Samuel,  65,  160,  161,  225 

Bartol,  C.  A.,  58,  160,  216 

JBaur,  F.  C.,  57,  246 

Belgium,  145 

Bellows,  H.  W.,  210 

Benevolent  F raternity  of  Churches,  6  5 

Berne,  147 

Berry  Street  Conference,  63 
Bigelow,  Jacob,  94 
Blindness,  155,  238 
Books,  18 


Boston,  17,  20,  127 
Bowditch,  Dr.  N.,  94 
Breakfasts  in  London,  141 
Briggs,  G.  W.,  190 
Brooks,  Ann  Gorham,  93, 228, etc., 233 
Brooks,  Peter  Chardon,  21,  93,  94 
etc.,  126,  203 

Buckingham,  Ellen,  Miss,  233 
Buckminster,  J.,  quoted,  196 
Buckminster,  J.  S.,  23,  75 

C 

Carlyle,  Thomas,  60,  142 
Channing,  W.  E.,  13,  27,  49,  101, 
125,  139,  160,  161,  168,  193,  211, 
251,  255,  264 

Character  among  the  Unitarians,  256 
Charles  X.,  135 
Chauncy,  Charles,  28 
Church,  First,  in  Boston,  26,  33 
Church,  the  Temple,  in  London, 
141,  144 

Clarke,  James  Freeman,  35,  61,  62, 
190,  193 

Cities,  Peculiarities  of,  140 
Clergy,  23 

Cotton,  John,  20,  34 
Cousin,  Victor,  152 
Covenant  of  First  Church,  29 

D 

Dewey,  Orville,  3,  69,  160,  21 1 

Diman,  J.  L.,  35 

Disciple ,  Christian ,  the,  207 

Doyle,  J.  A.,  69,  201 

Dwight,  Theodore,  quoted,  194 


270 


INDEX. 


E 

Eliot,  Charles,  94 
Elliot,  Samuel,  102 
Ellis,  A.  B.,  36 
Ellis,  G.  E.,  160,  169,  210 
Ellis,  Rufus,  35,  154,  160,  193 
Emerson,  R.  W.,  10,  13,  26,  57,  60, 
70,  101,  102,  126,  160,  168,  180, 

243,  251,  262,  264 

Everett,  Edward,  23,  76,  94,  129, 
141,  158,  160,  181,  194,  197,  201 
Examiner ,  Christian ,  the,  60,  206- 
208 

F 

Felton,  C.  C.,  159 
Fields,  J.  T.,  165 
Follen,  Charles,  49 
Fourier,  Charles,  142 
Fox,  T.  B.,  210,  238 
Francis,  Convers,  72,  160,  186  etc., 
193 

Freeman,  James,  160 
Frothingham,  N.  L.,  11,  15,  16,  22, 
24,  27,  52,  53,  60,  66,  67,  72-77, 
127,  131,  150,  155,  158,  216,  217, 
225,  226,  234,  235  etc.,  238,  240, 

244,  250,  263 
Furness,  W.  H.,  102,  166 

G 

Gannett,  E.  S.,  65,  160,  166,  213, 
quoted,  216 
Gannett,  W.  C.,  216 
Garrison,  W.  L.,  126 
Gospels,  the,  244 
Gray,  F.  T.,  65,  225 
Gray,  Thomas,  160,  223 
Gray,  William,  122 
Greenwood,  F.  W.  P.,  51,  66,  72, 
160,  167,  211 


H 

Hale,  E.  E.,  160,  211,  253 

Hall,  E.  B.,  166 

Hall,  Nathaniel,  189  etc. 

Hamilton,  Alex.,  statue  of,  233 
Harris,  T.  M.,  160,  190 
Harvard  College,  18,  19,  159,  201 
Hedge,  F.  FI.,  72,  102,  129,  i6or 
234,  quoted 
Hemans,  Felicia,  138 
Hillard,  G.  S.,  160 
Huntington,  F.  D.,  160,  162,  quoted 

K 

Kempis,  Thomas  a,  “  De  Imitatione 
Christi,”  256 
King,  T.  S.,  160 
King’s  Chapel,  227 
Kirkland,  J.  T.,  21,  23,  160,  167 
Kneeland,  Abner,  101 

L 

Lafayette,  139 
Latin  School,  20 

Law,  William,  “  Serious  Call,”  256 

Lawrence,  Abbot,  94 

Lawrence,  Amos  A.,  196 

Layman,  51 

Lecture,  Thursday,  31 

Libraries  in  Boston,  19 

Lincoln,  Abraham,  198 

Literary  Spirit,  90 

London,  140 

Longfellow,  H.  W.,  145,  159,  198 

Lothrop,  S.  K.,  68,  160 

Lotteries,  113-115 

Lowell,  Charles,  66,  160 

Lowell,  J.  R.,  170 

Lunt,  W.  P.,  11,  51,  72,  160,  171, 

I  265 


INDEX. 


271 


M 

Macaulay,  T.  B.,  141 
Martineau,  James,  56 
Mather,  Increase,  69 
May,  S.  J.,  49 
McKean,  Joseph,  22,  27 
Men,  Distinguished,  among  the  Uni¬ 
tarians,  259 
Meyerbeer,  142 
Milman,  H.  H.,  144 
Milton,  John,  200 
Morton,  Charles,  219 
Myers,  F.  W,  H.,  quoted,  91 

N 

Napoleon  III.,  153 
Norton,  Andrews,  55,  70,  139,  207, 
21 1,  244,  245 

O 

Old  and  New ,  the,  208,  21 1 
Old  World  and  New,  130,  156 
Orleans,  Maid  of,  143,  149 

P 

Paine,  Thomas,  226 
Palfrey,  J.  G.,  2,  23,  72,  76,  160, 
181,  190,  240 
Paris,  142,  143 

Parker,  Theodore,  I,  8,  13,  33,  34, 
39.  55,  57,  59,  62,  64,  69,  70,  101, 
155,  160,  168,  179,  187,  193,  204, 
209,  218,  249-251,  256,  264 
Parkman,  Francis,  21,  66,  129,  160, 
161  etc.,  190,  224 
Peabody,  A.  P.,  71,  181,  190 
Peabody,  Elizabeth,  6,  7 
Peabody,  Ephraim,  160 
Peabody,  W.  B.  O.,  72 
Peace,  Congress,  149-152 
Perkins,  James,  19,  94 


Phillips,  W.,  126,  197 
Pierce,  John,  22,  160,  219,  224 
Pierpont,  John,  64,  160,  184  etc., 
193 

Porter,  Eliphalet,  160 
Prescott,  W.  H.,  94,  159,  201 
Priestley,  Joseph,  18,  248 
Putnam,  A.  P.,  175,  261 
Putnam,  George,  160,  190 

R 

Rachel,  142,  153 

Register ,  Christian ,  212 
Renan,  Ernest,  3,  242 
Repository  and  Review ,  207 
Rheims,  149 
Rhine,  the,  145 

Ripley,  George,  13,  160,  193,  251, 
264,  265 

Robbins,  Chandler,  72,  160,  177 

etc.,  218 

Rogers,  Samuel,  141 
Romanism,  133 

S 

Saint  Cloud,  151 
Sewall,  Samuel,  93 
Shaw,  Lemuel,  94,  101 
Slavery,  194,  198 
Society  (Port),  66 
Society  (Seaman’s  Aid),  66 
Sparks,  Jared,  23,  160 
Story  Joseph,  101 
Sumner,  Charles,  126,  199 

T 

Tappan,  Lewis,  65 
Terracina,  132 
Thacher,  Judge  S.  C.,  167 
Theological  Decomposition,  226 
Thompson,  J.  W.,  190 


272 


INDEX . 


Ticknor,  George,  19,  159,  201 
Transcendentalism,  264,  265 
Treves,  148 

Tuckerman,  Joseph,  65 

U 

Union,  the,  198 

Union  (Young  Men’s  Christian),  66 
Unitarian  Charities,  127 
Unitarian  Controversy,  67 
Unitarianism,  I,  23,  38,  69,  193,  200, 
204,  227,  240  etc.,  265 
Unitarianism,  the  New,  259,  266,  267 
Unitarian  Liberality,  127 
Unitarian  Moral  Sentiment,  156,  157 
Unitarian  Piety,  256 
Universalism,  227 

V 

Verses  by  N.  L.  Frothingham,  78- 
85,  88,  89,  128,  130,  157,  172- 
174,  181,  197,  247 


W 

Wales,  T.  B.,  94 

Walker,  James,  2,  50,  65,  71,  72,  102, 
160,  183,  211,  240,  265 
Ware,  H.,  Jr.,  65,  102,  160,  164, 
180,  256 

Wasson,  D.  A.,  193 
Webber,  Samuel,  20 
Webster,  Daniel,  94,  126,  196,  197, 
201 

Webster,  Noah,  19 
Weiss,  John,  193 
Westminster  Abbey,  136 
Whipple,  E.  P.,  164 
White,  D.  A.,  101 
Willson,  E.  B.,  193 
Winthrop,  John,  200,  201 
Winthrop,  R.  C.,  167,  170 
Worship,  Places  of,  in  Boston  (1811), 
48 

'  Y 

Young,  Alexander,  2,  66,  72,  160, 
166  etc.,  225,  240 


. 


✓ 


* 


/  V 

.  /  J 


